


Experiments 2 (EXP stories, chronological order)

by chasingriver



Series: ChasingRiver's Experiments Series [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom!John, Dom!Mycroft, Dom!Sherlock, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Medical Kink, Multi, PUNK!STRADE, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Sub!John, Sub!Mycroft, Wax, dom!lestrade, punk!Lestrade, punk!Mycroft, sub!Lestrade, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <img/>
  </p>
</div><br/>This work is the sequel to Experiments. It contains the EXP stories of all pairings in chronologial order.
            </blockquote>





	1. Norway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go on holiday to Norway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (John/Sherlock)  
> Also available in Chinese! [Here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/397721)  
> For Moonblossom.

It had been John's idea. Of course. "Norway," he'd said. "How about a cabin in Norway?"

"You just want an excuse to buy one of those jumpers with reindeer on them."

"That's not it at all. They have cross-country skiing. It'll be beautiful."

"Honestly, John. Cross-country skiing? Have you ever actually tried it? It's hard work and no fun whatsoever."

John was undaunted. "It'll be romantic – nobody else for miles around, a fireplace with a raging fire, snow falling outside, a sheepskin rug under your back as I fuck you senseless…"

"Oh." There was a pause. "Right. I suppose it could have some merit. I'll call Mycroft and see if we can use the jet."

Mycroft had questioned their choice of location. "Norway? Why on earth do you want to go to Norway?"

Having no good reasons of his own, Sherlock had been reduced to using John's. (He left out the one where John fucked him senseless, but Mycroft had already figured that out.)

Flights were arranged, a car was hired, and a couple weeks later, they found themselves driving along snow-covered roads to a remote cabin in Norway. There was, indeed, a fireplace. There was nobody for miles around. There was electricity and even satellite internet access. ("I am _not_ going without my laptop, John.") The kitchen was fully stocked. There was even a sheepskin rug. (John had requested that specifically.) There was a huge bed, a sofa, and a couple of chairs. It was, as far as woodland cabins go, perfect.

John had procured a traditional Norwegian jumper in Oslo. Sherlock had insisted on something other than the reindeer motif. (John had secretly agreed with him, but he'd argued the point for form's sake.) He wore it proudly as they drove through the Norwegian countryside in their Range Rover. The freshly fallen snow kicked up behind them as they sped towards the cabin. Sherlock sat in the passenger seat, huddled in his black coat, freezing. ("Don't you want a parka, Sherlock?" _I'd look ridiculous in a parka._ "No.") He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, and wondered why on earth he'd agreed to this.

"We can stop and get you something warmer out of the luggage."

"I'm fine. We're almost there." His nose was red, and he warmed his gloved hands against the SUV's heat vents. He sat and fiddled with the GPS. They _were_ almost there – he could almost hear the siren's call of the central heating beckoning them. It was supposed to be a very modern cabin.

The snow drifts had already been cleared away from the door, and they wasted no time getting inside.

"Oh, this is nice. This is very nice."

Sherlock somewhat grudgingly agreed that it was, in fact, perfect, at least as far as cabins went.

John started to make pasta for dinner. He busied himself in the well-stocked kitchen, finding fresh bread, milk, and plenty of food. This was not 'roughing it' by any definition.

Sherlock unpacked their belongings. It was only a two night stay, but it seemed like they'd packed enough for at least a week. ("What if our clothes get soaked while we're skiing?" "We're not skiing." "Well, I'm still taking an extra jumper.")

John was still cooking dinner, and Sherlock had curled up on the sofa with his laptop. "The internet access works." It was his first experience with satellite internet, and he was pleasantly surprised. _God knows what they were charging him to check his email, but whatever it was, it was worth it._ He'd gotten over his minor snit from the drive and was settling in to the spirit of the thing when all the lights went out.

"Fucking hell." That was John as he fumbled around in the kitchen, looking for a torch.

Sherlock calmly walked over with his laptop – still fully charged and on a battery. The screen lit up the room. John finally found a torch under the sink, and they took stock of the situation. The fireplace was an obvious source of both light and heat, but in the pre-power-outage central-heating cosiness of it all, they hadn't lit the fire yet. There were a few pieces of wood and some kindling stacked by the fireplace.

"Sherlock, could you get the fire going? I'm going out to see if there's a generator."

Sherlock was about to complain, promptly realised he had the better end of the deal, and shut up.

John bundled himself back up and headed out into the dark, snowy night, armed with his torch. He tramped around the cabin, finding no signs of a generator. He did, however, find a generator outlet. _Well, that's a start._ About thirty metres from the cabin there was a shed. He made his way over there, snow getting into his boots and soaking his trousers. The shed door was barred by snowdrifts, and he worked to shift the snow by hand so he could open it. _Bloody hell. Why don't they keep a shovel outside?_ He finally managed to force the door open and shone the torch inside. _Merciful fucking christ. They have a generator._

John's only experience with generators had been about twenty years ago. His family had gone on holiday to Wales in a caravan when he was a teenager. It had been cold, wet, and miserable. The only saving grace had been the noisy generator, which had provided electricity to run the little electric heater and the stove. They'd sat huddled around the heater, hot water bottles pressed to their chests, sipping cups of tea. _Ah, family holidays._ John was convinced this wasn't going to turn into one of those memories. There was going to be good food and shagging on the rug if it killed him. He tried to move the generator. It might, in fact, kill him. The thing weighed a tonne.

He trudged back through the snow to get Sherlock.

Sherlock had managed to start a fire, but the smoke was reluctant to go up the chimney and was pouring into the cabin.

"Sherlock? What the hell? Are you okay?"

"Yes, John. I'm just having a little trouble with the fire."

"Did you open the flue?"

Sherlock gave him a _look._ "Of _course_ I opened the flue. The chimney is a little cold. I should have warmed it up before I started the fire. It'll be fine in a few minutes."

John peered through the blue haze at his lover's soot stained hands and couldn't help but smile. _When was the last time Sherlock Holmes got his hands dirty? Well, with something other than blood, at least._ "I'm going to need some help with the generator. It's full of petrol and I won't be able to shift it through the snow by myself."

Sherlock bundled himself up (in his warm coat, this time). Between the two of them, they managed to lug the thing back to the cabin. "You can go back inside, Sherlock. I'll get this started."

Sherlock smiled his thanks and retreated to the relative warmth and light of the fire.

John kneeled down and looked at the generator. _This shouldn't be too bad. Choke. Fuel cutoff valve. Pull start. (God, I hate those.) On-off switch. Cable to connect to the house. Okay, I can do this._

He set the choke and the fuel valve to the correct positions, braced himself against the frame of the generator, and pulled on the handle attached to the string. _More resistance than I'd expected._ Nothing. He pulled again. Nothing. _Bugger._ Again. This time, the thing at least tried to turn over. _Okay, now we're getting somewhere._ A few more pulls and he was out of breath, but the engine had finally started. _About fucking time._ He connected the cable to the outlet on the cabin. _There must be a cut-over switch somewhere inside._

As he walked in, Sherlock gaped at him through the haze. "John, are you okay? You look like you've just run a marathon." John muttered something about 'the fucking generator' and left it at that.

Using the torch, he found the electrical panel and the cut-over switch for the generator. With a dramatic flourish that he sincerely hoped would be justified, he flipped the breaker. Miraculously, the lights blazed back into life. Sherlock looked at him, clearly impressed.

"Where on earth did you learn how to work a generator, John?"

"Family caravan trips to Wales are good for something." He smiled. "That's about the only thing, though."

They cracked a couple windows to let the smoke out of the cabin. The fire was burning well now, and the smoke was indeed going up the chimney. John moved over to the fire, trying to get warm. Sherlock came over to help warm him, and then stepped back. "Good lord, John. You're soaking wet, and you reek of petrol fumes." He smiled and raised an eyebrow. "I think we should get you out of those clothes."

John looked over at the kitchen. He'd left dinner on the stove, but they could always reheat that later. _What am I thinking? Yes, of course I want to get out of these clothes._ He started shedding his clothes with the enthusiasm of a teenager on a first date. "You know, you're a little bit smoky yourself."

That was all the prompting Sherlock needed, and soon they were naked on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. In a nod to romance, Sherlock had turned off his laptop, and John had dimmed some of the now-functional lights. ("John, why did we bother with the generator if we're just going to turn the lights off?" "Shut up and kiss me, you adorable idiot.")

Kissing on the rug turned into cuddling. The cuddling, while pleasant, was replaced with enthusiastic groping. The groping was quickly replaced with licking, and biting, and teasing. You can imagine where it went from there.

As they lay there, warm and fuzzy (in many senses of the words - between the fire, and the orgasms, and the rug), they realised that perhaps a bowl of cereal would be just fine for dinner.

They left the generator running – the fire would go out before morning and neither of them wanted to wake up to a freezing cabin. (Actually, John didn't want to get dressed to go back outside and turn it off. He made a convincing argument about the freezing cabin though, and Sherlock seemed to buy it.)

Curled up warmly against each other in bed, they barely even registered the large "whump" outside the cabin.

"Did you hear something, John?"

"Hmm? No…"

They awoke to a crisp winter day. John seemed to have an abundance of energy even before he made the tea. "What do you think, Sherlock? Snowshoeing today?"

Sherlock looked at him blearily. "You've completely lost your mind, haven't you." It wasn't even a question.

John continued with the undaunted cheeriness of one who has been forced to endure family caravan holidays. "No, you said you weren't going cross-country skiing. You never said _anything_ about snowshoeing."

Sherlock muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "I would have if I'd known it was on the table," and pulled the duvet back up around his chin.

John smiled. In one swift movement, he pulled the duvet off his lover.

"John! It's cold."

"Of course it's cold, Sherlock. It's Norway, it's winter, and you're not wearing anything. Now, I don't think you're showing the proper amount of enthusiasm."

"How so?"

"Well, we're on holiday. We should either be participating in healthy outdoor activities or fucking each other senseless."

Sherlock's brain finally kicked into gear, and he pulled John on top of him, tugging at his dressing gown to remove it.

John smiled. They didn't even have snowshoes.

It wasn't until much later (once in the bed, some strong coffee, and then another session on the rug in front of the fireplace), when John went out to put more petrol in the generator, that he saw the tree.

They were in a forest, of course. There were lots of trees. However, this particular tree, already mostly dead and heavy with snow, had fallen directly behind their Range Rover and was blocking them in.

"Um, Sherlock? You should come and see this."

It wasn't a small tree. It was about 9 inches in diameter and at least thirty feet long. There was no chance of moving it by hand.

"Perhaps there's a chainsaw in the shed. Did you see one?"

"Um, I don't know. I was looking for a generator, not a chainsaw, and it was dark. Could you go and look?"

Sherlock looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Why?"

"Well, I did get the generator."

"Surely you don't expect me to use a chainsaw, John. You were a soldier… I'd have thought this was more your area."

"We didn't cut down many trees in the desert."

"There aren't many trees in London. And I've certainly never used a chainsaw."

John had the mental image of Sherlock wielding a chainsaw and decided he enjoyed Sherlock's fingers entirely too much to put them at risk.

He headed back to the shed, where there was, indeed, a chainsaw. It was huge. _Another pull start. Dear lord._ He started the thing with some trepidation. _Texas. Chainsaw. Massacre._ He'd never even seen the movie, but those were the only words running through this head. He walked around to the front of the cabin, brandishing it like a two-handed sword. _(Well, the grip was all wrong, but it felt just about as heavy. And lethal.)_

Sherlock backed up, silently glad he'd gotten out of this.

John braced himself as he cut into the tree, expecting kickback that never happened. One cut at either edge of the road, and the log fell to the ground. The two of them would be able to lift that out of the way. He killed the engine and sighed with relief. John put down the chainsaw and turned to Sherlock. "I am willing to concede that there _might_ have been better places to go on holiday. This one certainly seems to have it in for us."

Sherlock tried not to agree, and failed. "Well, yes. But it's not like you could have known…"

"Is there any reason _not_ to drive back to Oslo today and get a nice posh hotel room? At this point, I'm worried we'll burn down the cabin or something."

They smiled and went inside to pack. They were glad for the extra clothes – they didn't have to make the trip home smelling of smoke and petrol. ("See, Sherlock, I told you we'd need them.") On the drive back to Oslo, they enumerated the merits of large cities versus small cabins in the woods. Large cities won, with one exception. Sherlock promised John he'd buy a sheepskin rug when they got back.

They checked into their plush hotel room and collapsed exhausted on the bed. After a nap, they went out and had a very civilised dinner. John tried to purchase Sherlock a lovely Norwegian jumper. Sherlock threatened to withhold sex. They went back to the hotel and celebrated _not_ buying Sherlock a jumper.

The next day, as they settled into the plush leather seats in Mycroft's jet, Sherlock turned to John. "Well, that was Norway. Where to, next?"

"I think London will be fine, thank you." John was fairly sure no one in London even owned a generator. _Or a chainsaw. Well, unless they worked at one of the parks, then perhaps they'd have a chainsaw._ His rapidly escaping train of thought was halted by Sherlock's next words.

"Have you ever had sex on a plane?"

A year earlier, this question would have caused John to turn bright red. "No," he said, as he turned around looking for a good spot. There was a sofa and a couple of tables in addition to the chairs. "But there's really nowhere private except the toilet, and that doesn't seem like much fun."

Sherlock looked at him. "John. We're on a private jet - emphasis on the word _private._ " He rang the call button.

"Yes, sir?"

He used his best Being-Nice-To-People voice and that slightly haughty smile. "You know, we really don't need any food on this flight. If you could just give us some privacy, that would be lovely."

"Of course, sir."

John was sure he saw a hint of a smile, but she quickly turned away and disappeared to the front of the plane.

John practically dragged Sherlock over to the sofa and pushed him onto it. Lying on top of him, he pinned his arms above his head with one hand and used his free hand to rub the bulge forming in Sherlock's trousers. He kissed him passionately until Sherlock was starting to push up into him. Then he stopped. Sherlock gave a little whine at the loss of John's mouth. "Now, Sherlock. What did you enjoy most about our little holiday?"

"The rug."

"Fair enough, but we can't really bring that up in polite conversation when people ask us why we went to Norway, can we?" He rubbed himself lasciviously against Sherlock. "What else?"

"Oslo. I hear they have fabulous pickled fish."

"Okay, that works. But I'm saying _you're_ the one who likes pickled fish. I don't want to be the one getting it for Christmas every year. Clothes off, now."

Sherlock liked very few things more than John giving him orders. He wriggled out from underneath him and started stripping. John was inspecting the sofa more closely. "I wonder if I can use these seatbelts as bondage straps…" He might have been surprised to learn (or perhaps, not) that those "seatbelts" were there for precisely that reason. Mycroft had requested them. Subtlety is all about plausible deniability.

The seat belts worked marvellously. He tied Sherlock, hands and feet, along the length of the sofa. He looked down at his lover's body, stretched taut beneath him as he straddled his legs. "So gorgeous. Although I can't believe I'm in love with someone who likes pickled fish." He leaned over and captured Sherlock's mouth in a kiss before he could reply. He could feel Sherlock's erection pressing against his trousers.

"You need to be wearing fewer clothes."

"Really? I'm not sure you're in any position to tell me what to do, Sherlock." John grinned, evilly. "I could just leave you tied there and ask that lovely flight attendant to bring us some dinner. Then I'd lay it out on your gorgeous stomach like a Scandinavian smorgasbord and eat it off of you. Don't worry. I'd feed you too, of course. Perhaps some pickled herring?"

Sherlock knew that John was joking, but being used as a human table did have some appeal. _File that away for later._

John glanced around the cabin. This was Mycroft's jet. They had to be here somewhere. _Ah, there. A small paper bag over by the minibar. Oh, and a small fabric drawstring bag. I'll have to remember to thank him later._ Sherlock craned his neck to see where John was going. "Close your eyes, love."

Sherlock could feel John placing… something… on his stomach. _Something small and light. In a row leading towards his cock._ _Four of them_. Then he caught the unmistakable aroma. _Jelly Babies. Of course. There were probably baby-wipes on board too._ "My brother is so utterly predictable."

"Mmm." John ate the first Jelly Baby off his lover's stomach, sucking it into his mouth and then teasing Sherlock's stomach with his tongue. "Are you hungry, love?" He chewed on the sweet as he traced lines between the Jelly Babies with his finger, causing Sherlock to shiver.

"Yes, John."

"Oh, you seem to be a little tied up at the moment." He giggled at his own joke. "Would you like me to get you one?"

"Yes, please, John." His voice was a little breathy.

He scooped up the next Jelly Baby with his tongue, only inches away from the head of Sherlock's hard cock. Sherlock shivered and let out a small moan.

He moved up Sherlock's body and kissed him, letting the Jelly Baby fall into Sherlock's mouth.

Once John broke the kiss, Sherlock bit into the sweet and sighed. _I can see why Mycroft likes these so much._

John was back down by the Jelly Babies, getting deliciously close to Sherlock's erection. He sucked another into his mouth, making sure to suck and tease the skin until there was a lovely red mark. "There now, I've gone and marked you, love. Perhaps I'll have to mark you a little more to balance that out. Another Jelly Baby?"

Sherlock moaned in response. John's teasing was getting to him.

"Sorry, love, what was that? I didn't hear you…"

"Yes… John." Being tied up was doing delicious things to his mind. He couldn't squirm away when John's tongue tickled him, and the bondage made him feel so wonderfully vulnerable.

John delicately reached down with his mouth and sucked in the last Jelly Baby. He moved to Sherlock's head and made him crane his neck to reach his mouth. John let him have the sweet and Sherlock fell back onto the sofa, sucking on it contentedly.

"You look like you need something to do with your mouth, love. Unfortunately, I'm out of Jelly Babies." The way John had tied the seatbelts allowed him to reposition Sherlock on his side without undoing the restraints. Sherlock was now facing the edge of the sofa, his mouth at about knee height.

"Please, John."

"Please what, Sherlock?"

"Let me suck you."

"Oh, I don't know. It seems to me you were making fun of my new jumper. I'm not sure if I want to share my delicious cock with someone who doesn't respect my lovely Norwegian snowflake jumper." John used all the self-restraint he had to keep the laughter from his voice. If Sherlock had looked at his face, it would have been all over – John was _this close_ to becoming a pile of giggles. He stood close to Sherlock – a couple inches away from his lovely mouth. All Sherlock could see was his trousers.

"It's a very nice jumper, John."

"Really? You don't sound convinced, Sherlock."

"No, it really is quite nice."

"Perhaps you'd like one of your own for Christmas? I'm sure I could find one. Perhaps something in a nice Nordic pattern – red and white. Very festive."

There was a very long pause, as if Sherlock was trying to decide how much to concede.

"Oh for fuck's sake John, just let me suck your cock." The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush. "Please?" There was a definite pleading quality to it.

John, honestly, had been doing his best not to strip off his clothes for the last ten minutes. The sight of Sherlock, naked and tightly bound on the cream-coloured leather sofa, had been steadily weakening that resolve. John relented. He had no intention of _actually_ making Sherlock wear a jumper. He much preferred those lovely tight shirts.

Standing inches from Sherlock's face, he undid his belt and removed his trousers and pants. By this point, he was completely hard. He knelt on the floor in front of his bound lover. "I don't know, Sherlock. Are you sure you want this? With your arms bound, you'll have no control over how deep I go… You'll be completely at my mercy. Perhaps I just want to fuck your face hard until I come down your throat."

Sherlock moaned as he strained to reach John's cock. It was tantalisingly close to his mouth, yet not quite close enough.

John smiled and pulled his hard cock away from his stomach, offering it to Sherlock. Sherlock gratefully accepted it like he hadn't eaten in weeks. John was the one to moan now, the wet tightness of Sherlock's mouth feeling like heaven. He let Sherlock ease into it – gave him a chance to do those wonderful things he did with his tongue.

Sherlock groaned around him. John smelled of raw sex, and it made his mouth water. Being pulled tight on the sofa like this, his mouth just a willing orifice, was obscenely hot. His cock ached with arousal and need, but he didn't care. All that mattered was servicing John and giving him pleasure.

John fisted Sherlock's dark curls. Sherlock made a cut-off noise around his cock. "You like that don't you? You like it when I do this. You like me controlling what you do with your mouth."

Sherlock moaned assent.

John firmed his grip at the back of Sherlock's head and forced his cock further into Sherlock's mouth. _Oh. So fucking tight._ Sherlock's teeth grazed the underside of his cock, making him moan. "Do you want it harder, love? Do you want me to fuck that tight, hot mouth of yours?"

"Ngghh."

John took that to be a yes, and started fucking his mouth, hard. He didn't give Sherlock much of a chance to keep up, deliberately going deep enough to cut off his airway every now and then. It felt exquisite.

Sherlock gave up trying to do anything creative and just let John take his mouth, revelling in the submission of it all.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock, you're good at this. I need to fuck your mouth like this more often. You like having your mouth used, don't you?"

Another cut-off groan came from Sherlock's chest as John kept up his blistering pace.

John's legs stiffened as he felt the tight coil in his gut. "Oh, fuck… Sherlock…" He came in hot spurts down Sherlock's eager throat. "Fuck, yes. Oh…" His legs were suddenly weak. He released his grip on Sherlock's hair and slowly pulled out.

Sherlock took in a deep shuddering breath and sucked John's cock clean as he removed it. "Thank you, John."

Those few words of gratitude hit John in _all_ the right places. He bent down and took Sherlock's mouth with his, tasting himself on Sherlock's lips. "You did so well, love. That was incredible. Thank _you_." He looked at Sherlock's raging hard-on, leaking copiously onto his stomach. "Perhaps I can do something about that. You did so very well, after all." He shifted Sherlock onto his back again, leaving the restraints in place.

Sherlock's eyes were blown with lust, his perfect lips swollen and red. John was certain he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He lowered his mouth to Sherlock's cock. Sherlock bucked against his restraints at the contact of John's mouth. "Ohhh. John…" John teased the head of his cock with his tongue for a while and took him deeply a couple times, but he had no intention of getting him off like this. He pulled off and Sherlock gave a small moan, wondering if he was to be left wanting.

"Don't worry love; I have something else in mind." John retrieved the small fabric pouch and removed the bottle of lube. Inside was a small note in neat handwriting. "Enjoy."

Sherlock looked at him, dazedly. "Where…?"

"Your brother is a very considerate man. We should be sure to thank him for his thoughtfulness. I'm sure we can figure out _some_ way to show our appreciation." Sherlock's cock twitched. John smiled. He crawled on top of him and straddled his bound legs. "What do you want, love?"

"Be inside you…"

"You want me to ride you until you come, don't you?"

Sherlock nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. He strained against his bonds, which only served to remind him how little control he actually had.

John bent down and took one of his nipples in his mouth, teasing it, biting at it softly until Sherlock moaned.

He lubed up Sherlock's straining cock and prepared himself with a couple of lubed fingers. He shifted forward until he was positioned correctly and lined Sherlock's cock up against his tight hole. Pinning Sherlock's hips to the sofa with both hands, he slowly lowered himself down onto Sherlock's hard length. _Oh merciful fucking hell. So tight. So good._ He was glad he'd pinned Sherlock's hips – even tied down like this, Sherlock's hips had thrust upwards at the contact with his arse. John took his time, giving his body a chance to adjust to the fullness. This position – it was more intense than usual – being able to _ride_ him like this.

Sherlock was in no position to think coherently. All he could concentrate on was the silky hot tightness surrounding his cock. It was exquisite. After so long without stimulation, it wasn't going to take him long. He desperately tried to focus – tried to pull his mind together so he'd last longer. He didn't want this to be over so soon.

John looked at his lover, almost feeling the concentration radiating from him. "Oh no, love. I don't think so. You don't get to control this. He started riding him faster, taking his full length and then pulling almost all the way off him. As he slammed back down onto him, Sherlock gasped.

"Fuck… John, harder."

John's thighs burned, but he kept up his frantic pace. He could tell from Sherlock's expression that he was close to orgasm. "Come for me, love."

John's words sent Sherlock crashing over the edge and he came hard, deep inside John's arse.

John rested on Sherlock's chest, sliding off of his cock and holding him tightly. He placed gentle kisses over his face and neck, murmuring endearments. He slid off Sherlock. "Let me get you out of these restraints, love." John released his hands and rubbed his wrists gently to improve the circulation. After placing gentle kisses on his wrists, he went to work on his ankles.

Sherlock sat up on the sofa, his head still fuzzy from the orgasm. He looked dazedly at John. "So good…"

John smiled at him. "Yes, love. It was incredible. Thank you." He kissed him again. Then he fished in the little drawstring bag and got out the inevitable package of baby wipes.

Sherlock smiled. "So predictable…"

"Mmm, perhaps. But you certainly seemed to enjoy the Jelly Babies. Would you like some more?"

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, Sherlock was famished. "God, yes." He tore into the paper bag with a level of enthusiasm John rarely saw when Sherlock was around food. He scarfed down the Jelly Babies as John cleaned them up. As they got dressed, they started to feel the plane make its descent into London.

"Good timing."

Sherlock smiled. "They would have waited on the tarmac if we weren't done."

John nearly choked on a Jelly Baby. He could get used to this.

As they exited the plane, the flight attendant gave them a huge grin. "Did you enjoy your flight, sirs?"

"Oh, yes. Lovely, thank you." It wasn't like they were fooling anyone – they both looked extremely well-fucked, and they'd been loud enough for the pilots to hear them in the closed cabin. And, though they didn't know it (although Sherlock suspected as much), video footage of the entire flight was being transmitted to Mycroft's personal feed as they spoke.

They stepped into the waiting black car to find Mycroft and Greg waiting for them.

"How was your flight, little brother?" Mycroft grinned at the pair. "I hope it was better than the cabin."

John looked at him in surprise. "How did you know about that?"

"About what, John? Honestly, a cabin in the middle of the woods? It doesn't sound like much fun."

John was just about to believe him when Mycroft continued.

"Except for the rug. That looked like fun."

John flushed bright red, and realised he should have known. Sherlock just smiled, not surprised in the least.

The car headed off into the London night.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

Mycroft gave that smile of his. "I thought we'd start with dinner…"


	2. Two Corsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four of them finally get together for Corset night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John)  
> Warning: sibling incest

Mycroft and Greg had picked them up after they'd gotten off the plane from Norway. As they sat in the car heading back to London, John quietly fumed. Mycroft and Sherlock picked up on it immediately.

_He's upset about the cameras, isn't he._

_Well, My, you didn't exactly warn him. Once they were gone from our flat, I imagine he thought that was the end of it._

Greg picked up on the unspoken conversation between the two brothers. "Oi, what is it with you two anyway? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sitting there having a conversation. This isn't the first time it's happened, either." He looked at My. "Care to tell me how you do that?"

"I'm sorry, Gregory. It's something we've always been able to do. I'm not sure why. I suppose it's rude to do it when others are around."

"A bit, yeah. But I'm not really surprised you can do it. I've always been able to do the same thing with my twin sister. Have silent conversations I mean… not…" Greg blushed and trailed off, clearly not wanting to voice the "sleeping with her" part of the sentence.

John laughed, and then caught himself, remembering he was supposed to be upset. "So, Mycroft. About this camera thing. You had the cabin rigged?"

"Yes, John, I'm sorry. I should have told you first. It was a security precaution."

There were varying sounds of muffled giggling.

"I don't care what you call it, Mycroft. It's clearly for your own private video collection."

"I will admit I have a voyeuristic streak, yes. But if it really bothers you, I'll have the footage destroyed." He paused. "Or I'd be happy to make you a copy." He smiled at John, politely.

"Well then. Right. I suppose that will be fine. But in future, I want to know when I'm going to be on camera."

"I think it's safe to assume, John, that for security reasons, you will always be on camera, except when you are in my flat or at 221B." He paused. "I do, however, have strict instructions that the more… sensitive… footage only cross my desk. And I will always be most happy to share."

"And the plane?"

"Honestly, John. It has bondage straps installed on the sofa. And I left you with lube. Did you really think I wouldn't put cameras in there?"

John had to admit he had a point, and smiled. "The straps did work rather well. Thank you."

Sherlock chimed in, "and the Jelly Babies were delicious."

"I'll have the footage by the time we get back to my flat, if you'd like to review it."

John wanted to be upset, but he had to admit the thought of Mycroft (and probably Greg) watching him and Sherlock sort of turned him on. "So, you both watched the footage from the cabin?"

Greg turned three shades of pink and started looking at random points within the car – anywhere except John's face. "Um… Sorry, mate. I should have asked, I know."

John paused for a second before asking, "So, were we any good?"

Greg nearly choked, and both Sherlock and Mycroft burst out laughing. John, impossibly, managed to keep a straight face for about two seconds, and then promptly lost it as well.

"Put it this way, if the two of you give up chasing criminals, you could probably have a lucrative career in pornography." Now Greg could barely keep from laughing.

"Yes, well, I probably could have died _without_ knowing that little fact, but thank you."

The car pulled up to the Diogenes Club. The table had been set for four this time. The young waiter noted with silent interest the additions to their party. He knew who Sherlock was, of course, but Mycroft had never brought him here for dinner before.

"I asked, Sherlock, but they don't have any pickled herring. I assume steak will be satisfactory?"

John snorted and Sherlock shot Mycroft a look. "I thought you didn't even have that footage yet!"

Mycroft smiled. "The audio feed is live, dear brother. It takes up almost no bandwidth."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, the steak will be fine."

After dinner, they returned to the waiting car.

Mycroft looked at John and Sherlock. "My flat?" Neither of them needed to ask what he meant.

Sherlock looked at John, who nodded. Greg spoke up. "So, remember that corset thing we talked about?"

John's eyes widened. "Yes, well. That would be rather hard to forget."

"What about tonight?"

Sherlock's eyes went straight to Mycroft. John wasn't sure if the phrase was "undressing him with his eyes," "greedy stare," or "eye-fucking." Any of them would have worked, he supposed. The atmosphere in the car crackled with energy. Sherlock seemed too busy imagining Mycroft in a corset to reply, so John replied for him. "Sure. Why not? We'll need to stop by our flat and get the corset, though."

"Of course." Mycroft tapped on the glass and the car changed course to Baker Street. When they got there, John offered to get it. "Greg, want to come with me? Give these two some time alone?" Greg laughed, and they went upstairs together, leaving the brothers in the car.

John started laying out his plan as they entered the flat. "Remember when you brought up this corset thing? You suggested that we turn the tables a bit? They'll both be laced into corsets. I don't think either of them is going to be doing much active topping if they can't breathe right…"

Greg smiled.

Back in the car, the brothers chatted, lapsing in and out of words and thoughts.

"Did you enjoy Norway?" _You were delectable. John is a very lucky man._

"Other than the cold, the snow, the power outage, and the tree across the road? Yes." _The rug was fantastic. The jet wasn't bad either, thank you for that._

"Enjoy the Jelly Babies, did you then?" _Remind me to spread you out like a table sometime._ "You always were one to play with your food."

"I believe it was John who was playing with his food. So you bought a corset?" _Or is this just an excuse to see me in mine?_

"Gregory's idea." _But a little of both, yes. You know you look deliciously obscene in a corset._

"Full of good ideas, is he?" _Speaking of deliciously obscene, I'm looking forward to seeing you in one._

"He's a remarkable man."

The remarkable man stepped back into the car, followed by the other remarkable man. "Talkin' 'bout us, eh?" Greg smiled at Mycroft, who beamed.

John held a small bag with overnight supplies, clothing, and the corset.

Sherlock looked at John with a small smile. "What were you two planning?"

"You'll see." John and Greg shared a small chuckle.

As they made their way into Mycroft's sumptuous flat, Greg turned to Mycroft. "Playroom."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and nodded. It wasn't often Gregory took control, but Mycroft certainly wasn't averse to it. The evening was promising to be more interesting than he'd expected.

Sherlock looked at John, questioningly. John just smiled and got the corset out of the bag. Greg went to the bedroom to get Mycroft's corset, and the four of them made their way to the Playroom.

John, who'd never actually seen the Playroom before, let out an impressed huff. Sherlock's description of the room hadn't done it justice. John and Greg settled into two plush leather chairs. Sherlock and Mycroft stood, slightly uncomfortable at their obvious lack of control over the situation. Greg spoke first. "My, Sherlock… John and I will be directing things this evening. Do you either of you have a problem with that?"

"No." Sherlock licked his dry lips.

"No." The thought of Gregory ordering him around had gone straight to Mycroft's groin.

"Right then. Clothes off. Undress each other." Greg's voice was already a little ragged, and he rubbed at his growing erection.

As Sherlock and Mycroft primly undid the buttons on each other's shirts, you could feel the tension in the room. It was painfully clear they were holding back.

"Sherlock." It was John. "For fuck's sake, kiss him."

That was all the prompting either of them needed. They pressed against each other in a passionate kiss, hands tugging frantically at hair and clothing. Greg and John both moaned at the sight of it. It was fucking hot. Mycroft seemed to forget about the clothes and started biting his way along Sherlock's long expanse of neck. Sherlock's legs buckled, and his brother wrapped an arm around his waist. "Oh no, I'm not done with you yet." Mycroft pushed Sherlock against the wall and started working on his trousers, his hands deliberately rubbing against Sherlock's erection.

John felt like he was watching his own private porn video - one of the really good ones you had to pay for. Except this one starred his lover and his brother, and if that wasn't fucked up, he didn't know what was, but he didn't much care.

Greg? Well, watching Mycroft dominate Sherlock gave him a certain perverse satisfaction. He respected Sherlock, even liked him as a person, but he could be so annoying and arrogant at times. Watching his own brother undo him like this… well, it was a genuine pleasure. He smiled to himself as he wondered how Mycroft would react to their plans for the rest of the evening.

It took a while before both brothers were naked and standing in front of John and Greg. They'd completely lost their composure while stripping, and both of them were rampantly hard. "Okay you two. Here's how it's gonna work. Sherlock, you'll lace Mycroft into his corset first. Then Mycroft will lace you into yours. We're gonna watch. Neither of you are allowed to come until we let you, but feel free to tease each other as much as you like. John, anything you'd like to add?"

"Actually, yes. Sherlock, I'll be checking the lacing to ensure it's as tight as it was before. I expect you to lace Mycroft the same way. I want you both to experience the restricted breathing." He saw Sherlock unconsciously start breathing more deeply, his body anticipating the restriction. "Mycroft, is this your first time in a corset?"

"Other than the fitting, yes."

"Sherlock knows what to do, follow his lead. I'll check you both over for any breathing issues before we get started with our evening."

Mycroft and Sherlock both looked at him with surprise. They had expected the evening to consist entirely of corset play.

"Problem?"

The brothers shook their heads. They made a beautiful sight, standing there together naked, their graceful features echoed in their long, slender bodies. Both had pale skin, though Mycroft's hair was more of a ginger colour than Sherlock's dark curls. Mycroft's body was covered in a light dusting of freckles. The main difference between the two was Sherlock's ridiculously plush arse. Mycroft's hips were more traditionally proportioned, although the corset would change that. They stood there, their hands at their sides, ashamed neither of their nakedness nor of their obvious desire for each other.

John handed Mycroft's corset to Sherlock. Deep blue satin. No shock there – the same colour as Sherlock's. This one was a solid colour though, lacking the silvery pattern of Sherlock's. _Those should look nice together._

Sherlock, having worn his corset on more than a few occasions by this point, knew what he was doing. He carefully loosened the laces at the back of the corset before he started. "My, put your arms up." Reaching around his brother, he fastened the corset along the metal busk, carefully working each metal post into its u-shaped opening. "Okay, now brace yourself against the wall."

Now it was Greg's turn to catch his breath. The sight of his lover, braced mostly naked against the wall like that… Well, he couldn't just sit there. Sherlock had started tightening the laces on Mycroft's corset. Greg went over to him. "Stop for a minute, Sherlock. Just hang on to the laces. I need to do something." Sherlock stepped to Mycroft's left as Greg moved to his right. Mycroft's position, braced against the wall, made him shorter than usual, and Greg whispered in his ear in a ragged voice. "God, My. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are? You look so damned fuckable up against the wall like that. I just want to take you right now. Maybe have Sherlock suck you off at the same time." Mycroft groaned. "But I'm not going to." Mycroft groaned more loudly. "I'm going to let him finish getting you into that corset, and we're going to do this properly. And I'm going to make you wait. By the time I let you come, you're going to be begging for it. That's what you want, isn't it, My?"

"Yes, Gregory." Mycroft shuddered a deep breath, even though the laces were nowhere near tight yet.

"Good." Greg leaned under his lover's arms and captured his mouth in a bruising kiss. He pulled away, motioning to Sherlock to continue with the lacing. He sat back down heavily in the chair next to John and shook his head. "Fucking hell."

John swallowed and nodded. Sherlock wasn't even wearing his corset yet, and already he was as turned on as Greg. "How are the laces coming, Sherlock?"

"Almost done, John." Sherlock slowly licked the top of his brother's spine after he tied the laces in a bow, ending with a bite at the back of his neck. Mycroft shivered. Sherlock helped him stand back up.

John got up to inspect the lacing and turned Mycroft towards him. "Mycroft, breathe deeply for me." The standing position offered more slack than the braced position. Mycroft took a breath. It was clearly more shallow than usual, but not anywhere near what it could be. "Can you take it tighter?"

"Yes."

"Step closer to the wall this time and brace again. Sherlock?"

Sherlock undid the bow and started re-tightening the laces, starting from the top and bottom and working towards the ends in the centre. As Sherlock tugged them into a tighter bow, Mycroft let out a small gasp of surprise. "Oh…" They hadn't tied it this tightly at the fitting. He hadn't expected it to feel like… this – like bondage. _Oh. Yes._

Sherlock ran his hands down his brother's sides, admiring the curves that had appeared there. "You should see yourself, My. You have quite the arse in a corset." Sherlock's voice was practically gleeful. "I never realised it ran in the family. God, I just want to bite it." He did, and then he spread Mycroft's arse cheeks and slowly tongued his hole.

"Fuck, Sherlock."

Greg looked at John, impressed. "It takes a lot to make him swear. I'm not sure if it's the corset or Sherlock rimming his arse. Either way…" John got back up to check the lacing. Sherlock rocked back on his heels and stood back up.

"How are you doing, Mycroft? Breathe deeply for me again." Mycroft took a much shallower breath than before, clearly enjoying the sensation.

"Good. This is good."

"Great, now you're going to lace Sherlock into his – same process – start from the top and bottom and work to the middle. Got it?"

"Yes." Mycroft took the corset from John as Sherlock placed his arms in the air and waited for his brother.

Mycroft admired his brother as he secured the front of the corset. It was such a lovely colour against his skin. He had Sherlock brace against the wall and repeated the procedure. Sherlock hissed as the Mycroft tightened the laces too quickly – the laces burning against his skin – rope burns. "Oh, god, I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"It's fine, My. It'll leave a lovely pattern." _And I'll know you put it there._ The thought made his cock even harder than it already was. "Tighter, My."

John trusted Sherlock to know his own limits by this point. They'd used the corset often enough that he was a good judge of the tightness. When Sherlock was satisfied, Mycroft tied the laces in a bow as his brother had done. The two of them walked over to Greg and John, erect in both senses of the word.

Their long, lean lines had been rendered into curves. The effect was breath-taking, for all involved.

"Jesus, My. That was worth it. You look amazing." Greg momentarily forgot he was supposed to be exuding control. The sight of his lover in a corset had reduced him to breathy adoration.

John checked the lacing on both of them to ensure it wasn't too restrictive. The rope burns on Sherlock were minor, and he appeared to be enjoying them, anyway.

Greg stood up and went over to the cabinet containing the cuffs and other bondage equipment. Mycroft's eyes widened and his voice was tinged with panic. "Gregory?"

"Yes, love?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I trust you."

Greg went to him and put a warm hand on his lower back just where the corset ended. "I think you'll enjoy what we're going to do. If you don't, just tell me to stop, okay?"

Mycroft nodded. Greg kissed him gently.

"Okay. Over to the centre of the room, on your knees, facing each other." He retrieved two sets of wrist cuffs, a karabiner, and two sets of nipple clamps from the cabinet. He handed one set of the cuffs to John and pocketed the nipple clamps and the karabiner. John cuffed Sherlock's wrists in front of his body while Greg worked on Mycroft's. The brothers knelt there facing each other as their lovers restrained them. When Mycroft saw Greg pull the karabiner out of his pocket, he drew in a sharp breath. He suddenly knew exactly what Greg had in mind, and the thought of it made him weak. Greg smiled as he clipped the two sets of cuffs together with the karabiner. The look on Sherlock's face changed to a mixture of surprise and lust. "Oh…"

Greg unhooked the free end of the rope from the ceiling and ran it through the karabiner. He carefully lifted their bound arms above their heads and tied off the rope. "Oh, I almost forgot… John, give me a hand with these, will you?"

Greg fished the nipple clamps out of his pocket. John realised Sherlock had never used nipple clamps before. "You okay with these, Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded. The clamps were attached with silver chains. They were normally used on one person - the chain hanging between each nipple. Greg had something entirely more perverse in mind. "Help me attach them diagonally." He linked the brothers together, crossing the chains in the centre. Any movement by one would cause the other to feel it.

They hissed as the clamps bit into their sensitive nipples. Sherlock, curious, pulled back from his brother and they both moaned at the sensation.

Greg stepped back to admire his handiwork. The brothers were kneeling about three inches apart, their arms cuffed together above their heads. The position offered them almost no leverage, and their upper bodies were pressed together. The corsets held their backs rigid, the nipple clamps linked them at the chest, and their straining erections, trapped between the dark blue satin of the corsets, rubbed against each other. It was a good thing Mycroft knew a discrete dry cleaner, because the corsets were already stained with the evidence of the brothers' arousal.

Sherlock shuffled his knees along the carpet so his full body was in contact with Mycroft's. The brothers started kissing and rubbing against each other, using the friction of their bodies and the corsets to bring them closer to release.

Greg grabbed Sherlock's hair and pulled him away from his brother's mouth, bending down between them. "Don't get too excited. You're not coming 'til we let you, and we're nowhere near done yet." He let Sherlock go, and turned to John. "Who would you like?"

Both brothers whipped their heads around. They'd both been lost in each other and hadn't even considered _this_ possibility.

"I think I'll take Mycroft. I've never had the pleasure…"

Greg's body tingled with anticipation. This would be a first for both of them, then. Neither of them had ever penetrated the other brother.

Greg knelt beside Sherlock, his voice low and vaguely predatory. "How about it, Sherlock? I must say I've thought about this for a very long time – long before you bent me over my kitchen table and fucked me senseless. I've always wanted to bury my cock inside that gorgeous arse of yours."

Sherlock mumbled something incoherent and rubbed himself against Mycroft again. Greg grabbed him roughly by the hair at the base of his neck and turned Sherlock to face him.

"C'mon, Sherlock. Eyes on me. Quit perving on your brother long enough to pay attention. I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to ask me for it. Nicely. I'll consider it an apology for every time you've been rude to me at a crime scene."

Sherlock groaned. "Bloody hell, Lestrade, just get your cock in my arse already…" There was a _very_ long pause. "Please."

"You know, adding 'please' to a rude demand isn't asking nicely." Keeping Sherlock's hair tightly in hand, he used his free hand to slap Sherlock's arse. Hard. The force pushed him against Mycroft, only adding to the sensation in Sherlock's overloaded mind.

"Ask." _Slap._

"Me." _Slap._

"Nicely." _Slap._

Sherlock openly groaned.

"Enjoying that, are you?"

"Yes."

"You know, I'm beginning to think we made a mistake, tying you two together like this. You never _could_ concentrate on more than one thing at a time."

Sherlock froze, his attention suddenly and utterly on Greg, the fog gone from his mind. "No Greg, please. Don't. It was rude – I'm sorry." His voice dropped much lower, the words tumbling out of him. "I need this, with My. It's not a threat to you, I swear. I'm sorry I'm such a prat sometimes. I don't mean it personally. Just please, let me have this. I know you're everything to him, but let me have a small part, please."

Greg wasn't sure what to say. He'd never expected an _actual_ apology, let alone a validation of his relationship with Mycroft, not from Sherlock. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "I won't get in the way, Sherlock. I swear."

"Thank you, Greg." There was a look of genuine gratitude on his face. He leaned in and kissed Greg gently. "Really, thank you. Now if you'd be so kind as to get on with fucking me senseless, I would be most grateful."

Greg smiled. "Apology accepted." He slapped his arse once more and let go of his hair. He smiled at Sherlock and nodded in Mycroft's direction. "Have fun. Don't get too overstimulated. Unless you want to."

John was conducting his own negotiations. He didn't generally hold a grudge, but he was well aware that Mycroft had flaunted his power at his expense on more than one occasion. There had been the kidnappings, the cameras, the impositions and the assumptions about so many things. It just seemed somehow appropriate that he take advantage of the situation - now that he had Mycroft on his knees, so to speak. "So… Mycroft Holmes." John practically purred in his ear. "I don't see why I should give you a choice, but I'll at least let you express an opinion. Tell me what you want." He bit Mycroft's ear, causing him to pull back, startled, which caused the nipple clamps to pull on Sherlock, which caused the brother's cocks to rub against each other (again), which caused them both to moan. It was all a bit of a chain reaction - a very satisfying chain reaction. "Well?"

Mycroft seemed to be having trouble organising his thoughts. For someone as composed as Mycroft normally was, this was a particularly sweet little victory. John tugged on the laces of the corset and bit hard on Mycroft's shoulder while he waited for an answer.

"Nnggghh. Yessss."

"Oh, you like it rough, do you? I should have guessed." He reached down and cupped his balls. Mycroft groaned. "Unfortunately, 'yes' wasn't the answer to the question. I asked you to tell me what you want. You don't get anything unless you ask for it."

"Please… John…"

"Go on."

He groaned again, as if physically willing his thoughts into coherence.

"John… Please… I want it… rough."

"Yes…?" John was enjoying this a little too much to stop now.

"Please." He was begging now. "Fuck me… hard."

_Oh, god yes. That suits me just fine. And it definitely makes up for the cameras._

Truth be told, he wasn't particularly upset about the cameras, but it was difficult to pass up an opportunity to hear the most powerful man in England beg you to fuck him senseless.

Against all possible odds, John and Greg were still fully dressed. They left the brothers to their own devices as they shed their clothes.

Sherlock buried his head in Mycroft's shoulder, inhaling his scent. _I won't, My. You know that, right?_

_Won't what, brother-mine?_

_Get in the way - destroy what you have with Greg. I know I have a tendency to ruin things, but I don't want to ruin anything that makes you happy._

Mycroft sighed and kissed his brother's neck. _I know, love. Thank you._ They shared a tender kiss as their lovers undressed.

John and Greg returned, armed with lubricant. Sherlock and Mycroft looked at each other with lust-blown eyes. The time for tender moments was definitely over. Greg bent down and murmured to Sherlock. "So, how do you want it? Preparation? Or do you just want me to shove my cock up your arse?"

"I thought I made that clear earlier."

"Oh, good… I was hoping you'd say that." He playfully slapped Sherlock's arse again, knelt behind him, and slicked himself up. He lined his cock up against Sherlock's tight entrance. Greg had always enjoyed it a little bit rough – to have that with Sherlock – well, this was turning out to be quite a day. He started to push into Sherlock, forgetting that the bondage and the corsets offered the brothers no way of bracing themselves. Sherlock fell forward onto Mycroft, who rocked backwards onto John, who hadn't started yet. Either they were going to have to coordinate really well, or… _Oh. That would work._ Greg lined himself up again, and grabbed _Mycroft's_ hips, pulling him closer, trapping Sherlock between them. Sherlock and Mycroft both groaned as their erections were pressed between their bodies and the satin of the corsets. Sensory overload suddenly became a much bigger possibility.

Using Mycroft's body as leverage, Greg forced his cock into Sherlock's tight passage. The sensation was so intense he chewed on his upper lip to distract himself. He didn't want this over too quickly. _So fucking tight._ Sherlock groaned at the intrusion. "Fuck, Greg. Yes."

John had finished preparing for his own assault on Mycroft's arse, and knelt behind him. He chuckled when he saw what Greg had done for leverage. _Oh yes, that will work nicely._ He bit at the taller man's neck and lined himself up. He stayed there, his cock lightly resting on Mycroft's arse. Mycroft groaned. "Beg for it, Mycroft."

"Please, John. Fuck me." A particularly hard thrust from Greg actually pushed him back onto the head of John's large cock, which made him groan more.

John took that opportunity to push forward, burying himself balls-deep in one hard thrust.

Mycroft cried out in an almost feral sound of pleasure.

"You love this, don't you - being tied up and fucked hard like this. Do you let Greg fuck you like this?"

Mycroft made a non-committal noise that John suspected meant 'no.'

"You should. You really should. I'm not sure which I like better." He drew back out and then thrust in again, forcefully. "Watching you come undone like this, or the feel of your tight arse stretched around my cock as I fuck you senseless."

Mycroft groaned again, and John wasn't sure if it was from his thrusts, what Sherlock's body was doing to his cock, or being talked to like a cheap whore.

Greg was still pounding into Sherlock with abandon, the obscene slap of skin on skin drowned out by Sherlock's moans. Greg wanted him to be a little more talkative. "You like that, Sherlock? John told me you like it a bit rough." He bit Sherlock's shoulder as he thrust again. _The friction between them must be getting them close._ "You're not coming until we do. Remember that."

Sherlock let out a whine. "So close, though."

Greg reached down and pulled gently on Sherlock's balls to pull him back from the edge. "Not yet… Mycroft, you too. I want John to come deep in your arse before you even think about coming."

Mycroft couldn't restrain himself and let out an imperious "or what?"

"Or I'll withhold sex for a week and fuck your brother instead. He certainly seems to be enjoying it."

While the withholding sex part was certainly motivational, the part about fucking Sherlock just got Mycroft even more aroused.

"Fuck… Harder, John. And more biting."

"You really are quite the little pain slut, aren't you, Mycroft? I had no idea." John released one hand from his grip on Sherlock's hip and forcefully scratched the unmarked skin of Mycroft's back above the corset before grabbing his hair and pulling it.

Mycroft let out a satisfying moan at that. John rewarded him with a bite on the back of his neck and another hard thrust, making sure to hit his sweet spot. Mycroft bucked and reflexively pulled away from Sherlock, tugging on the nipple clamps for both of them.

Not for the first time, Mycroft was glad the room was soundproof.

Greg spoke up again. "What do you think John, should we fuck these poor sods through each other so we can let them come?"

"Mm. Okay."

They started fucking the brothers in sync, making sure each hard thrust rubbed their bodies and their cocks against each other as roughly as possible. The incoherent noises in the room got distinctly louder.

John was the first to go over, with a loud "Bloody hell, Mycroft. Nnnghh."

Greg held on to Mycroft more tightly for leverage and pounded into Sherlock with abandon. Sherlock just made little groaning noises at the delicious assault on his arse. It wasn't long before Greg was coming deep inside his favourite Consulting Detective with a grunt of pleasure.

As Greg and John pulled out, Sherlock spoke up, desperation in his voice. "Please, let me suck off My. Unhook us." Greg stood up and undid the karabiner, letting their cuffed hands fall between them. He and John hurriedly worked to undo the cuffs. The nipple clamps had long since fallen off from all the activity. Because they were still corseted, there was no way Sherlock could suck his brother off unless Mycroft was standing. Greg helped Mycroft to his feet and braced him. Between the prolonged kneeling and the imminent orgasm, he didn't trust Mycroft's legs not to give out.

Sherlock took his brother's straining cock into his mouth, almost gagging as he forced Mycroft's entire length in at once. Mycroft's eyes rolled back in his head as his little brother's tight mouth expertly worked his cock. With all the previous stimulation of their bodies pressed together, it didn't take long, and he was soon coming in thick hot spurts down Sherlock's throat. As Sherlock gratefully swallowed his brother's release, he was startled to find John's mouth around his own aching cock.

Mycroft's body went limp into Greg's strong arms, and Greg gently eased him to the floor, loosening the laces on the corset so he could breathe properly. He removed the corset and Mycroft leaned back against him in a sitting position, his long legs spread out in front of him. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft's chest and nuzzled his neck.

John's mouth knew exactly what Sherlock liked, and Sherlock almost sobbed as his orgasm was ripped from him. John knelt higher to kiss his lover, Sherlock's taste mingling with Mycroft's. As they kissed, he reached behind Sherlock and started loosening the laces of the corset. As the corset slackened enough to permit movement, Sherlock fell into his lover's arms and awkwardly curled around him. John murmured softly, "Just let me undo the front, love." Sherlock shifted enough to allow the corset to be removed, and wrapped himself back around John, who held him and gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Mycroft recovered his senses first, and Greg wrapped him in a blanket and moved him to one of the comfy chairs as he got some towels. After Sherlock came back down to earth a bit, he allowed John to move him to the other chair. While Greg cleaned them up, John massaged their wrists and generally checked them over. Other than the minor rope burns on Sherlock's back, a variety of bite marks, a few scratches, and some lovely red marks on Sherlock's arse, everyone had emerged from the orgy relatively unscathed – certainly with no "injuries" they hadn't enjoyed or begged for. The corsets, certainly _not_ unscathed, would need the services of that incredibly discrete dry cleaner, but that was nothing to worry about.

They all made their way to the massive shower in Mycroft's suite and let the steaming hot water refresh them. Bundling up in thick terry-cloth dressing gowns, they went out to the front room. Fine scotch was poured and distributed, and they lounged together, quietly staring out at the London lights. As the scotch and the time did its work, they absorbed the energy of the evening and returned to some sort of equilibrium.

John and Sherlock had planned to stay in the guest room, but they all ended up in Mycroft's massive bed, exhausted, warm and happy, curled against each other. They all knew it was unconventional, but it felt like the most normal thing in the world.


	3. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides to experiment with hot wax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (John/Sherlock)
> 
> For Deklava, who agreed that hot wax sounded like a good idea.

It had been Sherlock's idea. Of course. He never _could_ do anything by half measures. He sat at the desk with his laptop (John's laptop, actually) as John read the paper.

"Hot wax."

"Hmm." That had seemed like a good, non-committal response. "What about it?"

"I'd like to try it, John. It seems like a fairly safe method of intense stimulation."

If there was one thing John was getting used to in this relationship, it was being a bit of a novice. He knew the mechanics of hot wax, of course. He'd had his fair share of d/s experiences. But Sherlock's curiosity and, well, frankly _unbridled_ enthusiasm for new areas of study had left him in the dust weeks ago. _Bridled. Hm._

"Have you tried it before, John?"

"No. Who did you have in mind as the recipient?" John wasn't sure if he was up for hot wax tonight.

Sherlock giggled. "Oh, I don't know. Mycroft?"

"He'd probably enjoy it."

"Indeed. No, I was thinking I'd like you to try it on me."

John was already out of the chair, fumbling around in the kitchen drawers looking for the emergency candles. "On the bed. Naked. Oh, and put a towel down. Wait for me."

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. (John's subtle attempts at "training" him, he had to admit, were working. Positive reinforcement was a powerful motivator.)

John found the candles and did some quick searches on the internet. He knew they shouldn't be beeswax, but he wanted to reassure himself on any other safety issues. _Yes, these should work well enough._

He walked into their bedroom to see Sherlock lying on the bed, half-hard and grinning at him like an idiot.

"It's fascinating, John. This is supposed to be painful, and yet I find myself oddly aroused."

John huffed in amusement. "Sherlock, anything that involves you taking your clothes off seems to leave you oddly aroused. There's really nothing odd about it. You have the sex drive of a teenager and endless curiosity. Whatever will I do with you?"

"You've created a monster, John." A smiled played at the corners of his lips, even though he said it without a trace of laughter in his voice.

"Yes. Well. I got lucky, didn't I? Now, that's enough from you. On your stomach." _Oh dear lord, that arse. Talk about getting lucky._ "Now, do you want restraints?"

"I leave the choice up to you."

"I think you can handle it. If it proves to be too much stimulation, I'll just stop. You already know the restraints get you aroused – it would just confuse the data." At this point, John was leaning towards the theory that Sherlock was a bit of a pain slut, but he could accept the premise that this was 'research' – at least the first time Sherlock tried something. Once he wanted to do it again, both of them knew it was because he was into it.

John had brought two candles, some cold water (just in case), and a couple of ice cubes. He'd left them outside the door, not wanting Sherlock to see what he had in store. _It was good to have a bit of surprise._ He ran his hand over the pale skin of Sherlock's back. _No traces of body hair. Good. Probably not the sort of pain he'd be expecting._ He smiled to himself, wondering what his lover would look like with less body hair and a different sort of wax. "Ready, love?"

"Mm. Yes, John."

He retrieved the bowl containing the ice cubes and a candle. He lit the candle, the hiss of the match causing Sherlock to raise his head in interest.

"Head on the pillow. Face the other direction." John didn't want him to know when to expect it. That was part of the fun. He let the candle burn for a little while, a small pool of molten wax gathering at the top.

Sherlock was lying on the bed, his arms folded beneath his head, waiting. His breathing betrayed his arousal, but otherwise he was still.

Without preamble, John tipped the candle. The wax fell in a stream and splattered onto the unmarked skin of Sherlock's upper back.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and gasped.

"Good?"

"Oh, yes John. Very good."

"Describe it."

"Startling, but not too hot. It felt like liquid fire for a second, but then it cooled and I could feel it harden on my skin."

Sherlock's spine, spread out below him in a lovely curve, called out for attention. With his free hand, John picked up the ice cube. Starting at the base of Sherlock's neck, he ran it quickly down his spine.

"Oh… _Oh._ Wait – John, was that… what was that?"

"What do you think it was?"

"I… I don't know."

John used the candle to drip molten wax along his spine where he had just used the ice.

"Oh… Yes. That was the wax again. What you did before – was that ice? It was hard to tell the difference, but it didn't harden like the wax does."

"Mmm. Very good, love."

"More. Please, John?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He let the hot wax gather again and this time spread it across his lower back, just above his arse.

" _Ngghhhh."_

"A little more sensitive there, perhaps?"

"Yes. Oh… oh, that's nice. I'm so hard, John."

"I think you should _consider_ the possibility that you have a bit of a pain kink." John smiled, knowing that they were well beyond the realm of _possibility_ and more into _certainty._ "Not that there's a damned thing wrong with that, mind you. You're so fucking _sexy_ when you moan like that, Sherlock."

"Mmm. It feels so good, John. More…"

John experimentally dripped wax on his left arse cheek. Sherlock moaned again and his muscles twitched in response. _I can't believe how fucking lucky I am._ John placed the ice cube in the hollow of Sherlock's lower back and left it there, eliciting more lovely noises from his partner. Suddenly caught up in the idea of symmetry on his perfect canvas, he dripped wax on Sherlock's right arse cheek. "You're so beautiful like this, love."

"More, John. I want more. I need _more_."

"Greedy sod, aren't you." With one hand, he spread Sherlock's arse cheeks. He felt, as much as heard, the sharp intake of breath.

"Yes. Oh, _yes._ Do it, John."

He let the wax drip onto his lover's exposed entrance, not caring that some dripped onto his hand.

"Ngghhh. _Fuck._ Yes…"

John scooped up the melting ice cube from the base of his spine, and rubbed it across his opening. Sherlock bucked underneath him.

He pushed the cold, hardened wax away with his fingers and blew out the candle. He teased Sherlock's opening with his tongue. The resulting delicious sound made his toes curl. "What do you think, love? Do you need _more_?"

Sherlock just groaned.

John bent down and whispered in his ear. "You're such a little pain slut, my love. You're so precocious. I should have known this wouldn't be enough for you. You need more, and I'm going to make sure you get it." He lit another match, this time lighting a second candle as well.

Sherlock tensed as the base of the lit candle was pushed firmly against his tight entrance.

"Relax." As John inserted the candle into Sherlock's arse, he realised it wasn't going to be completely vertical. _So much the better._ A steady stream of wax started to drip off the candle and spatter onto Sherlock's arse cheeks. John used the second candle to trace patterns across his back and shoulders. Sherlock bucked wildly on the bed, causing the candle in his arse to spatter wax more wildly across his buttocks. "Hm… I'm so glad we didn't use restraints. It's so much _prettier_ to see you writhing like this. How does it feel, love?"

"Ngghhh…"

"Sherlock. Tell me how it _feels."_

"Ngghhh… Good."

"Better with two candles?"

"Oh, yes…"

"God, Sherlock, I want to fuck you right now. You have no idea. Covered in wax, writhing around on the bed like that. I just want to take that candle out and shove my cock in your arse."

"Oh god, yes."

John didn't need to be told twice. He didn't even bother with his shirt. He blew out both candles, undid his trousers as quickly as possible and stepped out of them, pulling his pants down at the same time. Grabbing the lube, he slicked himself up. He spread Sherlock's arse cheeks, brushed away the accumulated wax, and shoved himself in with one hard thrust.

"Fuck, oh god, yes John!" Sherlock angled his hips up and let John pound into him, relishing the tight friction of John's cock inside him. He'd been so hard since they'd started with the candles. John's thrusts pushed his cock against the towel on the bed. The stimulation threatened to overwhelm him. "John… Not going to last…"

John bent down over him and hissed in his ear. "You're going to wait. I'm going to fuck you first. _Then_ I'll let you come." He bit Sherlock's ear, just in case the message had been lost somewhere.

Sherlock groaned, loving it when John was like this. "Yes, John."

John continued fucking his lover with unrestrained enthusiasm. Both of them were making enough noise to wake the dead.

John wasn't sure what actually did him in. It was quite possibly the noises Sherlock was making, but it could have been the lovely patterns of white wax on his pale skin. The tight heat of Sherlock's arse certainly didn't hurt either. His orgasm was coalescing in the near distance. "Oh, fuck. Come for me, love." He reached around and fisted Sherlock's cock as he started to come deep inside him. Sherlock let out a desperate moan as he came all over John's hand.

John collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and kissing his neck. "Christ, Sherlock. You'll be the death of me. But what a way to go."

Sherlock, his limbs and his mind slack with bliss and endorphins, giggled a bit. "Research, John. There's never enough data…"


	4. Theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives Sherlock a medical examination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (John/Sherlock/Mycroft/Greg)  
> Warning: sibling incest  
> Thanks to non_canonical for the beta!

"Want some food? I don't know about you, but strangulation always makes me hungry. Or sex? Perhaps sex." John said it as if he was trying to pick between two options on a dinner menu.

Sherlock grinned at John. He never tired of the bizarre sentences that sometimes came out of his lover's mouth. They'd just wrapped up 'The Case of the Power Station Strangulation'. Sherlock insisted it sounded better than 'The Case of the Battersea Strangler.' (That was John's name for it.) Sherlock didn't really care what John called it on the blog. He'd solved it, and now he wanted exactly what John wanted, and it wasn't food.

The crime scene was rapidly dismantling itself. It was two in the morning, and only the unfortunate bastards who didn't have lovers were sticking around for the overtime. Anderson and Donovan were slinking off together as if nobody knew what was going on. D.I. Lestrade was climbing into a ridiculously expensive black limo, not particularly caring who saw him – most of the force already knew he was dating Mycroft, and he was entirely too tired to be arsed about appearances at this time of night.

Sherlock had texted for a taxi as soon as he'd solved the case.

"Where to, guv?"

"Barts."

John furrowed his brow. "I thought we were done with this case?"

"We are." Sherlock smiled, smugly.

"What's going on?" A look of slight horror crossed his face. "Oh, no. Please tell me Molly didn't suggest _that_ again. I thought we'd convinced her we're monogamous."

"Mm, probably best that she doesn't catch us with Mycroft and Greg then. No, it's not that. She hasn't brought it up since the last time. Next guess?" Sherlock was still riding the high of solving the case, his energy level almost off the scale.

"Well, it doesn't involve food, so it better involve sex, or I'm having it off with you on the way there." The cabbie grimaced, hoping for a large tip.

John was smiling, but Sherlock thought he might actually be serious. The case had dragged on for days, and he'd been too wrapped up in it to take care of his own needs, let alone John's. "Really, John. Usually I'm the insatiable one after a case. Anyway, it does. It's a surprise."

John looked intrigued. He knew the layout of Barts as well, if not better, than Sherlock. They'd christened every broom cupboard in the place, the morgue, some of the labs, one of the old wards… John sat back in his seat, gently resting his hand high on Sherlock's thigh. His thumb started tracing circles on the inside of his lover's leg.

Sherlock looked like he was going to say something, but stopped.

John quirked a smile in response and kept tracing slow circles.

It burst out of him all at once. "Oh, come on John, don't you want to know where?"

John smiled angelically. _Less than thirty seconds. He must be excited about this._ "I like surprises, Sherlock."

"That's not what you said when you found the intestines in the fridge."

John raised his eyebrows and looked thoughtful. _He has a point._ "Put it this way – I can be patient." _And I know it drives you nuts._

By the time they got there, Sherlock practically dragged him from the taxi into the old hospital. Sherlock strode down the dimly lit corridors, his coat swinging out behind him. John, as always, was following closely, inserting a slight jog every few paces to keep up.

Most of the hospital had been updated and converted into modern space over the years, but there were still a few areas that had never made it onto the renovation schedule. A few safety lights lit these otherwise deserted corridors, still paved with smooth, well-worn stone, hundreds of years old.

Sherlock cut left and headed down a dark corridor that made several turns. It was completely dark, but that didn't seem to slow him down in the slightest.

"Slow up, will you? I can't see a thing." His phone beeped, it was a message from Lestrade about the case.

"It's an empty corridor, John. You don't need a torch."

By the time they got to the end of it, the residual glow of the safety lights was completely gone. He almost bumped into Sherlock. He reached for his torch.

"Not _yet,_ John. I told you, it's a surprise. I'll give you a hint – Mycroft used to bring me here when I was a boy."

John nearly choked.

"Oh for god's sake. You _know_ that only started recently. Come on, guess."

"I have no idea, Sherlock. Is it the old morgue?" He could certainly imagine the Holmes brothers finding that intriguing.

"Not quite, but close." Sherlock opened a door and stepped inside. "It's one of the old operating theatres…" He dramatically turned on his torch and played it over the room.

They were in a large circular room, tall for its size. It was indeed set up like a theatre, with rows of curved observation stands terraced around a metal table in the centre of the room.

John looked around, surprised he never knew this existed. He'd found many hidden corners of Barts while he was training but apparently not this one. It was clearly a Victorian-era theatre. The floors were tile and easily cleanable. The observation stands were made of wood – well-worn indentations from years of use evident in the rails and floorboards. John suspected the metal table was a more recent addition.

Dissections and autopsies, not operations, had been conducted here. The medical students received their anatomical training watching from the stands while the instructor conducted the dissection. By the time he'd studied at Barts, the anatomy classes were conducted elsewhere, and students were allowed to work on their own cadavers. This room was a relic from a bygone age.

John was already exploring the room, torch in hand, looking for the lights. "Really, you used to come here?"

"Yes, when I was much younger. They still used the room to demonstrate autopsies for the medical students. Father spoke with one of the professors and Mycroft and I were allowed to observe. It was quite fascinating."

John found the lights and flicked them on. They illuminated the room surprisingly well.

John was still opening cabinets and exploring.

Sherlock hadn't anticipated such a high level of interest from John. He'd hoped to get straight to the sex.

Sherlock pressed up against him as he peered into a cabinet that still contained some old medical supplies.

"You know you've always wanted to have sex on an operating table, John." Sherlock's voice was low and dark in his ear.

John turned around and pressed Sherlock to the wall, holding his wrists against it tightly. With his voice equally low, he purred, "And you seem to be under the delusion that I haven't. You forget, my love, I'm a doctor." He leaned in and sucked at Sherlock's neck before continuing. "I know all about anatomy and physiology. Why do you think I can make you come so hard?"

Sherlock made a small noise somewhere between lust and curiosity. This wasn't how he'd seen tonight going, but it was an intriguing development. He tentatively pushed back against John's hands pinning his wrists.

John pushed back against him, immobilising his body against the wall. "Don't make me restrain you. We do that with unruly patients, you know." He leaned in and nipped at Sherlock's ear. _Not exactly medically necessary, but there are more than a few things I plan on doing to him that aren't._ "Are you going to behave?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Get undressed and lie on the examination table, face up."

John watched with feigned clinical detachment as Sherlock removed his clothes. He felt anything but detached – the thought of getting to 'examine' Sherlock was turning him on far more than he'd anticipated. He hadn't indulged in medical play since his days as a student, and he was starting to wonder why he'd stopped.

He could see his lover shiver as he crawled naked onto the cold, steel table. John wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the anticipation. If Sherlock's arousal was any indication, it was probably both.

"John…"

" _Doctor_ Watson. I'll be with you in a moment." On a sudden whim, he fired off a quick text while Sherlock wasn't looking. He rummaged through the cabinet he'd found earlier, looking for equipment. He wished he had his medical bag with him. _He's probably never done any medical play before. He's fairly adventurous, but I don't want to terrify him either. Enemas? Too messy. Ooh, forceps. Those could be handy. Urethral sounds – oh god, no. A speculum. Hm, maybe. Rectal thermometer – good. Stethoscope. That should be plenty. None of the instruments have been sterilised – at least, not recently, but there is a large container of alcohol and a sink with soap and hot water._ He dumped the instruments into a tray and covered them with the alcohol. He started running the water as hot as he could get it. A few minutes later, the instruments were as clean as they were going to get without an autoclave.

He put the stethoscope around his neck and put on an ancient lab coat that was hanging on the wall. Grabbing the items he'd picked out, he headed over to the centre of the room.

John was glad for the cover of the lab coat as took in the image Sherlock made on the steel table. His long legs hung slightly off the end of the table. His alabaster skin echoed the brightness of the steel – the only darkness coming from the black curls on his head and at his groin. Sherlock was ragingly hard, his cock a dark pink. He was already oozing pre-ejaculate.

"Right then. 'Holmes.' Sherlock, isn't it? What seems to be the problem?" John almost laughed as the thought ' _nothing my cock up your arse couldn't cure'_ came unbidden into his head.

"Well, Doctor Watson, I've been having inappropriate erections for some time now."

John looked appraisingly at Sherlock's gorgeous prick. "Hm, I can see that." He took his time 'examining' Sherlock, lifting his cock from his stomach and peering at it clinically. "Uncircumcised. Length – above average. Girth – hm, average." Sherlock scowled at him. _Being called 'average' about anything drives him insane._ "High levels of pre-ejaculate. You are in quite a state, aren't you?"

Sherlock propped himself on one elbow to watch the examination.

"Lie back, please. You need to let me examine you."

He let Sherlock's prick fall back to his stomach with a slap. Sherlock gave a small moan. "Okay then, let's listen to your heart." He placed the stethoscope on Sherlock's chest. "Oh, that's not good. Entirely too fast. Your pupils are dilated, and your respiration rate is elevated as well."

"Perhaps you should help me with the erection, doctor." Sherlock's voice was low and manipulative.

"Oh, I'm not finished with the examination yet." He retrieved the forceps. "I'll be testing your pain response next." He bent over and licked one of Sherlock's nipples and then blew on it. John smiled as it hardened. As he positioned the forceps over the hard nipple, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Feel free to respond vocally – we won't be interrupting anyone at this time of night, and I do need to gauge your pain response accurately."

With a smile, John closed the forceps over Sherlock's nipple and started to squeeze.

His initially gentle pressure was rewarded with some low moans. "Interesting. I see the pain hasn't lessened your arousal. How about this?" He clamped down harder on the forceps, and Sherlock nearly bucked off the table, letting out a throaty yell that was somewhere between lust and agony.

As John released the pressure, a door opened. The quiet, measured tones of the elder Holmes brother floated through the air. "Ah, I believe we've found the correct place. Good evening, Doctor Watson."

Sherlock bolted to a sitting position. "Mycroft? What the hell?"

John pushed Sherlock back on the table, gently but firmly. "Please remain on the table while I examine you, Mr Holmes. These medical students shall be observing your examination."

Mycroft and Greg took their places in the closest observation tier and shed their coats.

John smiled to himself. Sherlock might have been surprised, but if he hadn't called safeword over their appearance, he probably wasn't going to.

He spoke to his 'students.' "I'm glad you could join us this evening. I've already started the pain response testing. His response is definitely abnormal. Observe."

He repeated his earlier procedure on Sherlock's other nipple, teasing the nipple more thoroughly with his tongue this time. At the application of the forceps, Sherlock let out another howl of pain that turned quickly into a moan of pleasure.

"See how the pain only makes his erection more prominent? His vocal responses clearly indicate that he's enjoying the stimulation. I think it's possible that our patient is a dirty little pain slut." He drew out the last two words.

The mere phrase elicited a moan from Sherlock.

John continued, trying to suppress a smile. "And, quite possibly, an exhibitionist."

John started to crank the table lower. "Turn over, head on your arms, arse in the air, please." He tried to make his voice as clinical as possible, which was difficult when he was having his own breathing problems.

Once his lover was in the new, more vulnerable position, he grabbed the rectal thermometer. "Alright, I need to get your temperature." He licked a finger and massaged Sherlock's puckered hole, on display so nicely in this position. "Observe how the patient doesn't object to the stimulation."

He pushed in the tiny glass thermometer, knowing the diameter wouldn't even begin to tease Sherlock. What _would_ tease him was being left on display like this, with his arse in the air and his cock hanging heavily between his legs, in front of his brother and the Detective Inspector. John walked over to his 'students.' "I'm so glad you could both make it. Got my message, then?"

Mycroft smiled, trying to keep the mirth out of his voice. "'Barts. Old operating theatre. Bring lube.' It seemed fairly urgent, so we hurried over."

John smiled. "I know our patient is happy you're here. After all, this _is_ for the benefit of medical science."

Mycroft handed him a small tube of lube. "I believe you wanted this?"

"Ah, thank you. That _will_ come in handy."

He returned to Sherlock and pulled the thermometer out, reading it. "Hm, temperature is normal. I can see we're going to need to do some internal examination."

He held up the speculum so Greg and Mycroft could see it. "We'll be conducting the examination with a rectal speculum." It looked like a metal duck bill with handles. "The screw adjustment allows for varying levels of dilation."

"It's your choice whether to allow the patient to see the medical equipment. If your patient is a dirty little slut, like this one, he'll probably enjoy knowing what's going to be shoved up his arse. Mr Holmes, would you like to see the speculum before I insert it?"

"Yes, please."

Sherlock raised his head off his arms in order to look at John. His pupils were completely blown and his mouth was slightly open.

John held out the speculum. "I have some lubrication, but I'm not sure if it will be enough…"

Sherlock angled forward and immediately took it into his mouth, sucking on it desperately.

"The patient clearly desires oral stimulation. We'll need to work on that later."

Sherlock moaned around the cold metal of the speculum, which was quickly warming in his mouth.

John looked over at Greg and Mycroft. While still fully clothed and at least marginally paying attention, they were both breathing hard and their hands were all over each other. _So much for impassive observers._ He hadn't really expected them to be. He was rather hoping they'd join in.

He took the speculum out of Sherlock's mouth and spread some lube on it. "When dealing with a cheap little whore like this, you don't need much preparation. In all likelihood, he'll enjoy the experience."

He took the well-lubed speculum, about the diameter of a finger, and thrust it firmly into Sherlock's arse. John had expected Sherlock's moan, but not Mycroft's. A quick glance confirmed that Greg's silence was only due to the fact that he was biting down hard on one of his knuckles.

"Now, you use the screw adjustment to open the speculum." The cold metal of the handles rested firmly against Sherlock's testicles, but it only seemed to arouse him further. He squirmed on the table as John started opening the speculum.

John stopped. "Do I need to restrain you, Mr Holmes?" _I really hope not. This table isn't equipped with any._

Sherlock made an incomprehensible noise.

"I'm going to need to open the speculum quite wide in order to do a complete exam. I'm guessing you've had bigger things up that gorgeous arse of yours. Do you think you can take it?"

Sherlock seemed to regain some control over his speech centres. "I can take anything you can dish out, _Doctor_."

"Oh my, you're quite the little cock slut, aren't you? You're _enjoying_ having your arse in the air in front of my medical students. Perhaps I should have  
them come closer for a better look. I wouldn't want them to miss such a rare opportunity."

He motioned for Mycroft and Greg to join him at the examination table. They made their way down, somewhat stiffly. When they'd joined him, he continued slowly opening the speculum. It was a mesmerizing sight, Sherlock's arse being held open like that, being forced wider by the second.

"Because the speculum is small, I can still do a prostate exam. Observe." John lubed up one finger, and pushed it in Sherlock's gaping arse. Because of the speculum, there was no resistance at all. There was even room around his finger.

At the touch of his gland, Sherlock bucked. "Oh, fuck. Yes…"

John removed his finger and slapped Sherlock's arse. "You're not supposed to be enjoying this, Mr Holmes. Please hold still."

He did it again, this time massaging Sherlock's prostate. "Mycroft, see how he became even more erect when I did that?"

Mycroft nodded, vaguely.

"It's more obvious if you can feel him. Here, hold his cock while I do it again."

Mycroft sucked in a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He took his brother's cock in his hand as John once again massaged Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock cried out at the touch of Mycroft's hand on his prick. It had been neglected for so long, and the sensation was almost too much.

John grabbed Sherlock's hair with his other hand and pulled up firmly. "Don't you dare come yet, you little slut. I'm not done with my exam." He reached between Sherlock's legs and slowly tugged on his testicles. Sherlock let out an anguished cry, but it clearly brought him back from the edge. "See, that's a useful technique. You don't want a patient injuring themselves by releasing too soon. Lestrade, you try. Work him up a little first."

It had been a while since they'd all played together, and Greg was only too happy to get his hand on Sherlock's prick.

"Mycroft, here – you massage his prostate."

John almost felt sorry for Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind the attention. To the contrary, he seemed to be revelling in it.

After a couple more rounds of orgasm denial, John stepped in. "There's another technique I'd like to show you with the speculum." He opened the speculum even further, the metal blades opening Sherlock's arse wider. "See how the blades only obstruct part of the entrance? That lets you do this." John moved close, firmly grabbed Sherlock's arse cheeks, and delicately ran his tongue along the two exposed edges of Sherlock's arsehole. There was a reason John had grabbed Sherlock's arse so firmly. The resulting explosive movement from Sherlock would have left him with a steel speculum to the forehead if he'd not been holding on.

"Gentlemen, please hold him down while I continue to demonstrate. This is a crucial technique." Greg and Mycroft stood on either side of the table and firmly held their squirming patient. John continued. "See how far I can get my tongue inside with the speculum spread wide like this? I can stimulate all the nerve endings there. I can even nibble on the edge of the exposed area." John couldn't even begin to imagine what category of medical examination this would fall into, but they were long past that pretence. "Here, I'd like you both to try."

Sherlock nearly cried. "Please, just let me come. Please…"

"You first, Greg."

As Greg's skilled tongue worked Sherlock's arse, John bent down near Sherlock's head while he held him. "You're doing so well, my little cock slut. Are you enjoying this?"

"Oh god… yes."

"Do you want to feel your brother's tongue in that lovely hole of yours?"

There was a pause, surprising John. Sherlock's voice was very quiet. "Yes, more than anything. Please."

Mycroft looked at John and smiled. He seemed more than willing.

"Would you like me to remove the speculum so Mycroft can get his tongue all the way in there?"

Sherlock nodded.

Greg moved back as John closed the speculum and removed it from Sherlock's arse. "See how loose and dilated he stays, even once it's removed. Mycroft…"

Mycroft was there immediately, his hands spreading his brother's cheeks, his tongue darting inside his brother's loose hole. He licked slowly around the inside edge, provoking a low keening sound from Sherlock. As he stiffened his tongue and pushed further inside, Sherlock pushed back against him, desperate for deeper contact. Mycroft kept up his slow teasing, alternating thrusts of his tongue with slow deliberate licks around the inside edge of his arse.

Sherlock unexpectedly let out a guttural cry. Everyone turned to look at him – even Mycroft stopped his ministrations. "Bloody hell, just fuck me already. I can't take any more of this. Please!"

John bent down to look at him. "Who do you want, love?"

Sherlock's voice was ragged. "All of you."

"You know if you do that, you can't come until we're all done."

"I don't care. I can do it."

John looked at him with deep affection and smiled. "I know you can, my greedy little cock slut." He kissed Sherlock deeply, and then motioned for him to move down the table. "Here, stand on the floor and bend over the table. That's it – hold onto the edges. Greg – you first." John handed Greg the lube as he made sure Sherlock was comfortable.

Greg undid his trousers, almost grimacing as he removed them. He'd been so aroused for so long, even the movement of the material made him want to come. When he grabbed Sherlock's arse and thrust in, all four of them let out a moan.

As Greg started pounding his arse, Sherlock sighed with relief, letting the sensations wash over him.

"John, my mouth."

John moved to the side of the table, undoing his trousers and freeing his straining cock. Sherlock eagerly turned his head and took John as deep as he could, despite the odd angle. He started sucking on him, needing his mouth to be filled as much as his arse.

Mycroft stood and watched, breathing heavily and palming his erection, trying desperately not to come in his trousers. Watching his lover fuck his brother senseless like this was a rare treat. Usually when they were all together, he was with his brother and Greg and John were together.

John looked around at them. After the events of the evening, he didn't think any of them would be able to last much longer. It was amazing they'd all stayed dressed until now. He rested his hand on Sherlock's hair, running his fingers through it. With his other, he caressed his lover's cheek. He was fairly sure that as long as none of them touched Sherlock's prick, he'd be able to hold out. Whoever went last would have that honour.

Greg wasn't able to hold on any longer. He let out a loud moan as he ejaculated deep inside Sherlock's arse. He pulled up his trousers and moved over to the side of the room, propping himself against the wall, exhausted.

John looked at Sherlock, who nodded in Mycroft's direction. It seemed John would be last. John was secretly thrilled. They'd been together for a long time now, but each time Sherlock chose him over his brother, it still gave him a perverse thrill.

Mycroft undid his trousers and caressed his brother's arse a little before he plunged in with one solid thrust. John caught himself staring. Mycroft was thicker than his brother, something John knew all too well from the many times Mycroft had fucked his throat raw.

Mycroft seemed to have an intuitive sense for the angle Sherlock needed and hit his sweet spot almost constantly. Sherlock writhed as he tried to concentrate enough to suck on John as well as take his brother's thrusts. John could see how difficult it was for him and pulled his cock from Sherlock's mouth, letting him focus on the pleasure in his arse.

No one said anything. The room was filled with the raw sounds of sex – the grunts, the wet slap of skin on skin, the squeak of the table every time Sherlock pushed against it. John and Greg watched as Mycroft skilfully undid his brother, piece by piece. Greg's entire demeanour was still slack from post-orgasmic bliss; John was strung tighter than a high voltage line.

"Come inside me, My." His brother's words unexpectedly sent Mycroft over the edge and he came hard, shuddering his release deep inside Sherlock's arse. His chest was heaving as he pulled out and stepped back. He looked at John and mouthed a 'thank you.'

John stepped behind his lover, bending over him and caressing him lovingly. He whispered in his ear. "You've done so very well, my filthy little slut. Now it's your turn. Do you want to come now?"

"Yes, John. Please."

"Do you still want me to take your arse first?"

He could hear the smile in Sherlock's voice. "Of course."

As he slid in, he could feel the slippery ejaculate of the other two lubricating Sherlock's passage. He had no intention of holding out on his lover. They'd both been hard for a very long time. He honestly didn't know how Sherlock had taken it for this long without coming. Sherlock was one hell of a _talented_ little cock slut.

They were both moaning as John took him in long, deep strokes. As John felt his orgasm approaching, he grabbed Sherlock's prick and let his lover fuck his fist as he pounded into him. That was all it took for Sherlock, who came with a loud cry at the same time John felt his own release hit him. Sherlock came all over John's hand and the table, collapsing in a boneless heap as his orgasm finally left him.

John caressed him gently and lifted him off the table, supporting him with strong arms. Greg and Mycroft were there then, murmuring soothing words of affection and support, their hands joining John's in supporting Sherlock's exhausted body.

"You were amazing, Sherlock."

Mycroft agreed. "Quite something, little brother."

" _And_ you solved the Battersea Strangler case." That was Lestrade.

"The Case of the Power Station Strangulation," Sherlock murmured – a smile still evident in his voice.

"Mm. After that performance, love, I might even use that on the blog, even if it is a lousy case name."

"You know, John, this is the last time I take you somewhere medical and expect a quick fuck. I had no idea…"

"Ah, but now you know…" John smiled fondly at him as he helped him with his coat. As they headed back down the corridor, John wondered if there were other places in Barts he'd been unaware of.


	5. Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides to help John buy the milk. His method is a lot more complicated and involves much more nudity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (John/Sherlock)
> 
> Thanks to non_canonical and {IBegToDreamAndDiffer} for their betas and feedback.

"John. We need milk."

John looked up blearily from his paper. "Fine. I'll get some tomorrow, Sherlock."

"No, John. We need milk now."

John rubbed his eyes and gave him his 'Oh god, you're in one of _those_ moods' look. "Do I dare ask why? It's almost midnight."

"Because we're out of milk. Come on. Sainsbury's is open." Sherlock had that slightly manic edge to his voice that he got when he was on a case.

There was no stopping Sherlock when he was like this.

John shook his head slightly and got up from his chair. "You're barmy. You know that, right?"

Sherlock gave him an eager smile. "Come on John, it'll be fun. You always do the shopping."

"There's a reason for that," John muttered under his breath. "If I went running off for milk at half past eleven, you'd wonder what the hell I was up to."

Sherlock just shrugged, undaunted. "Come on. It's the perfect time."

John grabbed his coat. Sherlock was already dressed and practically vibrating with excitement.

John gave him a questioning look. "It's just milk, Sherlock. Honestly, I need to take you shopping more often if you're going to be like this about it." He went towards the fridge. "Are you sure there's none left? I think we still have some…"

Sherlock grabbed him and almost dragged him out the door before he could reach the fridge. He took the stairs two at a time, John hurrying behind him.

Outside, the evening was surprisingly warm. "See, John? It's a lovely night for a walk."

"Since when do _you_ go for walks? I can't even drag you to the park on a nice afternoon."

"Fresh air, John. Good for the lungs. Come on, keep up!"

The fluorescent lights of the Sainsbury's lit up the otherwise dark street. Other than a couple of bored checkout girls, the place was practically deserted.

Sherlock strode down the aisles towards the milk and walked right past it.

"Hang on a sec, the milk's over here."

"Follow me." After a quick glance around, he pulled John through a service door.

Sherlock's eyes darted around the empty warehouse area. There was a loading dock.

"Midnight, John. A new shift comes on soon. Lorries full of milk, eggs, and vegetables. Shelf-stackers, John. This place will be crawling with them..." Sherlock smiled.

"If you think I'm shagging some random shelf-stacker, you've got another think coming."

"Don't be silly, John. The fun part is avoiding them."

At the sound of footsteps, Sherlock quirked a smile and pulled John toward another door. "In here."

They found themselves in the refrigeration unit behind the dairy products. Looking out between the milk shelves, they could see the rest of the shop. "Here, John. It's the perfect place."

Sherlock pushed him up against the metal racks holding the milk containers, making a loud clattering sound.

"Christ, Sherlock. We can't do it in here. Someone could see us – the racks are open to the shop."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and gave him a wicked grin. "Exactly." He paused for a second. "Someone could reach in and grab something other than milk…"

"Oh… god. Sherlock, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Which is _exactly_ why we should do it." Sherlock started undoing John's trousers and leaned in for a fumbled kiss.

Sherlock's excitement was infectious. At the touch of Sherlock's fingers on his flies, John was in. He pulled Sherlock's head closer and gave him a proper kiss, biting at his lower lip. He undid Sherlock's belt with his other hand.

Sherlock spun him around to face the milk racks and pulled down his lover's trousers and pants. He braced John's hands against the racks. "Mm. Delicious, John." He finished pulling down his own trousers.

John felt Sherlock's hand on his hardening cock. The pleasure turned to confusion as Sherlock pressed it down against one of the racks and placed a two pint carton of milk across it.

"Argh! That's cold!" John hissed. "Sherlock, what the hell?"

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere, John."

"Do you really think that's likely?"

"No, but I want to make you wait. I don't see you as the type to befoul milk racks. Besides, it's fairly unlikely anyone will reach in that far to get their milk."

Suddenly, that was all John could think about. _Some poor biddy who can't sleep, out to get some milk for her late-night cuppa. 'The freshest ones are always in the back, dearie.' Oh good lord._

Sherlock's hot tongue on the back of his neck shut his subconscious right up. Soon Sherlock was biting at his neck and rubbing his body against John's.

John pushed back against him, grinding his arse against Sherlock's erection, and then he giggled.

"What?"

"Only you could be this hard while standing in a fridge, Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed. "You're the one who got me this way."

They both froze as they heard movement outside.

Sherlock pulled a sachet of lube out of his pocket and whispered in his ear. "No time like the present, John. It's a good thing you like it rough; I think they'll be restocking the milk soon."

"C'mon then, you tease… stop talking about it and fuck me already."

Sherlock slicked himself up and wiped his hand off on his shirt. Without further preamble, he lined up behind John and forced himself in.

John let out a guttural moan that echoed throughout the small room. Sherlock's hand clapped over his mouth. "Shh!"

John nodded and pushed back hard, greedy for more of Sherlock's cock inside him. The rough pleasure of getting fucked and the possibility of getting caught outweighed the carton of cold milk holding his cock against the cold metal rack. _He's right– I'm not going to come like this, but I'm not sure I care._ He ached to free his cock and bring himself off while Sherlock pounded into him, but he knew there was no way he'd get away with it.

With each thrust into John, the metal racks rocked against each other. "Shhh, quiet, John!" Sherlock giggled.

"You're the one who braced me against them, you berk…"

Sherlock thrust harder, wondering just how much noise it would take to bring people into the room. John gave up trying to be quiet, the clattering from the milk racks clearly louder than his own moans.

Anyone walking down the milk aisle would have wondered if there was an earthquake in progress – a moaning, giggling earthquake.

Anyone in the warehouse… well, fortunately, no one in the warehouse could hear them over the din of the lorries in the loading dock.

Sherlock shuddered through his orgasm, slumping against John. "Ohhh. Oh, John."

" _Now?_ Seriously? Now is not the time for fuzzy afterglow, Sherlock." Using one hand, he freed himself from his milky prison. Then he pushed his blissfully grinning lover into an upright position. "Come on."

"But, John…" Sherlock's words were a little slow from the orgasm. "We're not done yet."

John had already done up his trousers and was working on Sherlock's clothes. When they were both marginally presentable, he grabbed a tray of milk and thrust it at Sherlock. "Hold this." He grabbed a tray of his own and practically shoved Sherlock back through the door to the warehouse.

A couple of shelf-stackers stopped what they were doing and gave them quizzical looks. John gave them his best military stare and just said, "Expired."

John heard a snort of muffled laughter from Sherlock. He elbowed him in the ribs, pushing him in the direction of the loading dock. They put the milk by some other racks and hurried out through the loading dock into the night.

As they hurried down the road, giddy on adrenaline, John started to laugh uncontrollably. "That," he said between gasping breaths, "is the last time I let you get the milk."

Sherlock erupted into another round of giggles. "We didn't even get the milk. We have to go back, John."

"I'm never shopping there again, Sherlock, at least not at this time of night."

As they made their way back to the flat, John looked over at his tall, graceful flatmate.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"I think we found the one disguise you're absolutely rubbish at."

"Oh, as if you were a convincing shelf-stacker, John. 'Expired?' Was that all you could come up with?"

Sherlock didn't even see it coming. John pulled him into a nearby alley and shoved him roughly against the wall, his smile belying the force of his actions.

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Sherlock. I thought I made quite a convincing shelf-stacker. I think…" He pushed against Sherlock, rutting against his lover's thigh. "I think I'd like an apology. And my cock down your throat."

Sherlock let out an involuntary groan and his breath caught. "Here, John?"

"Yes, my love. I want you to get down on your knees in this dirty alley and suck me off like a common whore."

Sherlock couldn't get on his knees fast enough.

John grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's hair as his lover's delicate fingers worked on his trousers. The sight of Sherlock on his knees never got old. He pulled Sherlock's head back roughly so he could see his face. "You like this, don't you? You dirty little cock slut."

In mute answer, Sherlock ran his tongue teasingly around his shell-pink perfect lips and he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Mm. That's what I thought. Now, apologise for mocking my shelf-stacking skills." _Did I really just say that? Good lord._

All further rational thought disappeared as Sherlock made a very thorough, very enthusiastic apology.

Braced up against the alley wall, fucking his lover's face, he whispered down to Sherlock, "You're definitely coming with me to get the milk from now on."


	6. T-shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes Mycroft shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg)

Greg awoke to sun filtering through the sheer curtains, and Mycroft's long form curled around him. "Mmm. Morning, love."

Mycroft kissed his temple and nuzzled the side of Greg's sleep-lined face. "Any plans today?"

Greg smiled. He'd been having this dream... "As a matter of fact, I do. And you're coming with me."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, inquisitively. "Oh? What if I have to stop a world crisis?"

"It's Saturday. Can't you stop those things just by waving your hand or something?"

"I believe you're thinking of Zeus."

"Same difference, really." Greg gave Mycroft a lascivious smile and leaned in for a kiss. "Adonis, Zeus, take your pick. You're a Greek god, and you're all mine. Well, mostly mine. You know what I mean."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I _am_ all yours, Greg. You know the rest of it doesn't count."

"Mmm. Well, I was having a lovely dream just now, and I'd like to make it happen. We won't even have to go to Paris."

Mycroft wrinkled his nose and looked a little disappointed. "That's a shame. Where are we going?"

"Camden market."

Now Mycroft really gave him a look. "What on _earth_ could you want from there, Gregory? You've been there, right? It's all junk stalls and hippies."

"Oi, I used to live near there. It's not all junk stalls. Anyway, we're not looking for high fashion."

"Oh… So it _is_ something fashion-related?"

"Yes. Well, technically no. Anti-fashion. You'll just have to wait and see. You're not allowed to wear a suit."

"Why not?"

"Just… You're not. You'll thank me later. Do you have a backpack?"

Mycroft stared at him with a look of near-horror.

"Right. 'Course you don't. We'll take mine."

"Why would we need a backpack?"

"Well, you'll need something to put your clothes in."

"Gregory, I don't know what you have in mind…"

Greg rolled on top of him and straddled his chest, kissing him to shut him up. "You." He nipped at Mycroft's ear. "Are going to do." He chewed on his lover's lower lip. "Whatever I tell you to." He pulled back and looked at Mycroft. "Right?"

"Well, Gregory, if you put it like that…"

"That…" Greg reached back and rubbed his hand against Mycroft's groin. "Is _exactly_ how I'm putting it."

Mycroft sucked in a breath and nodded. "Right. I'll call for the car."

"No car. We're taking the tube."

Cue the second look of horror. "The tube? Really, Gregory. I hardly think that's necessary."

Greg pinned his lover's hands to the pillow. "There is no fucking way I'm taking a limo to Camden market. It's just… wrong. Plus, I want to see you take the tube. I think it'll be hysterical." He had a playful grin on his face.

Mycroft pouted.

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport, My. It won't be as bad as you think. Do you have any jeans?"

Raised eyebrows. "I believe I own one pair, yes."

"Great. Wear those. And any shirt you have that doesn't button up. I'll be back in a minute." He went into the large room where Mycroft kept his huge collection of suits. _Honestly, it's bigger than some of my flats have been._ His clothes took up a small space in the corner. Some of his stuff was still in cardboard boxes – not necessary for work, but not something he'd wanted to leave back at his flat, either. He dug around in them until he found what he was looking for – a pair of scruffy jeans, a Clash t-shirt ( _from a show, mind you)_ , a studded leather belt, and a pair of combat boots. A quick search through Mycroft's bathroom cabinet turned up some stuff to spike his hair a bit. He started to get dressed.

Mycroft was still lounging on the bed, naked. "Aren't you planning on showering first?"

"No. And you're not allowed to either. You have to be a bit grotty for this. Trust me." Mycroft wrinkled his nose again.

"Wait, what _are_ you wearing…?"

Greg stepped into the bedroom, hair softly spiked, wearing skin-tight jeans and the form-fitting t-shirt. He didn't even have the boots or the belt on yet. "Yeah? What'dya think?"

Mycroft finally realised his mouth was open, and he shut it.

"I was punk long before I was a D.I."

Mycroft still didn't know what to say, but his cock certainly seemed enthusiastic.

Greg smiled. "Don't get me wrong, My. You look fucking incredible in a suit. But I want to see you in some tight jeans. And there's no fucking way I'm letting you wear a suit on my bike."

Mycroft's mouth just wouldn't stay closed. "You… have a bike?"

Greg pushed Mycroft back onto the bed and climbed on top of him again. "Mmm. I have a bike. And I'm going to teach you how to _ride_ it." He ground his arse into his lover. "And if you ask _really_ nicely, maybe I'll let you fuck me on it. But first, we have to get you something indecent to wear."

It took him a while, but Mycroft eventually found his pair of jeans. _They'd been pressed._ Greg inwardly groaned, but smiled approvingly. _They weren't nearly tight enough, but it was a start._ Mycroft found a shirt that didn't button. He still looked like a politician, but at least he could go to Camden market without sticking out like a sore thumb.

As Mycroft tried to comb his hair into some sort of order, Greg reached up and mussed it back into its natural curls. "Leave it, My. I like it. C'mon. We need to go before all the good stuff's gone."

Mycroft peered at him doubtfully, but took his hand and they made their way to the tube station.

"You know, I've never actually taken the tube."

"You're joking."

"No. I'm really not a big fan of… people."

Greg laughed. "Think of it as a chance to deduce the hell out of everyone."

Thankfully, the trains weren't completely packed. It was early on a Saturday, after all. They even got seats. Mycroft took Greg's idea to heart and muttered things under his breath as they rode.

"Going home to her husband after spending the night with her girlfriend."

"Thinks no one will notice his nipple piercings." ("That's not a deduction." "No, but it's true.")

"Quit his job with the government yesterday to become a writer. Now he's having second thoughts."

At the next station, Sherlock got on the train, covered in blood and carrying a harpoon. "Mycroft?" There was incredulity and panic in his voice.

"Sherlock?"

After their initial reaction, they completely ignored each other. Greg wasn't sure which rated higher on the absurdity scale. _They were both on the tube – fairly unlikely right there. Sherlock was covered in blood and carrying a harpoon, but Mycroft was wearing jeans. It was about equal, really._

Sherlock got off King's Cross. Mycroft didn't say a word. Greg just looked at him and laughed like an idiot until Mycroft started laughing as well.

Greg made them get off at Camden Town, even though Chalk Farm was probably closer. He wanted Mycroft to experience the _thronginess_ of it all - _the Children's Crusade._ Even though they were both skewing the age curve pretty badly, it was still the best place to get skinny jeans and used combat boots in London.

Greg looked at his nervous lover, lasciviously. "So, you'd like a 'ride on my bike,' eh?"

Mycroft tried not to blush, and failed.

"Here's the deal. You have to wear everything I buy you – all the way home. Trust me. It'll be worth it."

Mycroft nodded, still looking nervous.

Greg dragged him into the first place that sold used combat boots. Mycroft, sitting in a cracked plastic chair in his pressed jeans, tried on someone else's shoes for the first time in his life. Greg nodded in approval. "Those'll do. Let's see what we can do about some jeans. Everything else'll be easy."

Greg paid for the boots and put Mycroft's shoes in the backpack. Greg glanced down at the boots, glanced at Mycroft, and licked his lips. Mycroft suddenly decided he could do this.

The next shop had jeans. There was a space in the back with a curtain where he could try them on. "Gregory, there's no way I can fit into these."

"Trust me. It just takes a while to work them over your calves." He poked his head around the curtain.

"Gregory!"

"Fuck..." It was said with complete awe. "No, those fit. Those definitely fit. Bloody hell." They were faded, ripped, and obscenely tight. _Gloriously obscene, actually._ It was tempting to get him home now, but there were other things to find.

Mycroft started to take them off. "Don't even think about it. Put your old ones in the backpack. I'll pay for these."

Greg picked out half a dozen used t-shirts from one of the vendor stalls. They'd be pleasantly tight across Mycroft's finely muscled form.

Mycroft had stopped trying to protest. It was nothing he would have ever _chosen_ to wear, but he couldn't deny that he looked, well, surprisingly _good_. Greg could barely keep his hands off his arse _. Good lord, I'm wearing somebody else's shoes. No – combat boots. That's even worse._

"Take off your shirt."

"What, here?"

"Yes, here. It's not illegal. C'mon." He handed Mycroft one of the old shirts.

Mycroft gingerly pulled his shirt off and hastily put on the tight, faded t-shirt.

 _Oh, fuck yes, that works._ "Okay. Almost done. All we need now is the leather."

"For the bike?"

"No, just for, well… the leather. I'll get you a set of leathers for the bike later." Greg shuddered pleasantly at the thought of Mycroft in full leathers. _I'd buy a fucking bike just to see that._

They found another vendor stall with handmade leather accessories. Greg knew that the "real" punk stuff was cheap and nasty, but that was only because they'd never been able to afford the good stuff. By this point, Mycroft took the wrist cuffs, studded belt and chained wallet in stride, but balked at the collar.

"Surely, Gregory, you must be joking."

"Not even a little bit. Spikes or no spikes? It's up to you."

Spikes it was. Mycroft shot Greg another _look._

"Trust me, Mycroft, no one will care."

"Perhaps not here. What about walking back to my flat? What if someone from work sees me?"

"You can have them killed, can't you? No, I'm joking. Just tell them you went to a costume party."

Mycroft sighed and put on the collar. Greg helped buckle it in the back, and used the opportunity to press up against his lover. "You look fucking amazing, My."

The collar bothered him a bit. It all seemed like a joke at his expense. The crowds made him nervous, and he just wanted to leave. "Gregory…"

"Yes, we're done. But we're not finished." He dragged Mycroft off down a side street. Suddenly, all the noise and the crowds faded into the background. Away from the main road, it was surprisingly deserted. He stopped in front of a shop window, and made Mycroft look at his reflection. "My, look at yourself. Do you see how fucking hot you are?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his new skin, but he had to admit that the tight clothes were appealing, in a post-apocalyptic sort of way. His hair was a mess of dark ginger curls. His tie had been replaced with a spiked leather collar. His suit jacket, shirt, and waistcoat had been replaced with a faded red t-shirt. His pocketwatch – a chained wallet. His understated leather belt had been replaced by a gaudy, studded one. His lovely bespoke trousers were now skin-tight ripped jeans. And his shoes were now somebody else's boots.

Mycroft Holmes absorbed his appearance. Mycroft Holmes – tutors, public school, Eton, minor government official, and now – badass punk. He _did_ know how to kill someone in fifty different ways. They just usually weren't expecting it from somebody in a three-piece suit with an umbrella. But now? He actually _looked_ like he could kill someone. He started laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. Q _ueen and Country replaced by God Save the Queen._ "So, Greg. I must admit, I find _you_ attractive wearing those clothes. But honestly, do you really find me attractive right now, or is it just the novelty factor? Or perhaps the collar?"

Greg grabbed his belt and dragged him down the nearest alley. Shoving him against the wall, he started kissing the hell out of him. "What do you think, My?" He rubbed Mycroft's hand on his throbbing erection. "I've been hard since you put on the jeans. I figured it was probably obvious."

Greg's jeans _were_ tight, and Mycroft belatedly realised it _was_ obvious, but he'd been too self-conscious to notice. He mumbled an apology.

"Don't apologize you stupid git, push me up against this wall and fuck me… Or do you want me on my knees…?"

 _That_ comment made Mycroft groan, and he shoved Greg further down the alleyway. _God I'm thick sometimes._ After a brief, almost subconscious scan for CCTV cameras, he pushed Greg to his knees. "Suck me off, and make it good."

"Oh fuck yes." He worked furiously at Mycroft's ridiculously tight jeans, finally releasing his half-hard cock and shoving it deep in his mouth.

Mycroft let out a moan. "That's it. You like that, don't you, you little cock slut?"

Greg groaned around his cock and sucked harder.

Mycroft looked down at the soft spikes of Greg's hair, bobbing up and down as he swallowed his cock. _How on earth did I get this lucky?_ And then, because his brain really wasn't functioning properly with his cock down Greg's throat – _nnggghhh… fuck._ Even if he didn't swear often, his brain did – especially when Greg was involved. He grabbed both sides of Greg's head and started fucking his face, hard. He wasn't going to last long, but they were in some back alley in Camden – lasting wasn't the point. Getting off was the point.

Greg would have smiled if his mouth hadn't been completely filled with Mycroft's cock. _It was the little things in life – having your lover fuck you senseless in an alley somewhere and both getting off on the sex and the possibility of being discovered._ He'd never thought Mycroft would do this, and he was quite touched that he'd let go enough to allow it. He groaned around his lover's cock, relishing the taste and feel of it in his mouth. Mycroft moved one hand to the back of Greg's head and started thrusting even harder. Greg felt Mycroft's cock hit the back of his throat and tried not to gag. _Too deep to breathe. Just hang on._

Mycroft kept up the punishing pace and then gave a few shallow strokes so Greg could catch his breath. Then he hissed down to him, "I hope you can hold your breath, Greg, because I'm fucking your face like this 'til I come down your throat."

Greg wasn't sure if he was more excited at the domination, Mycroft's use of swear words or that he'd called him Greg. _Regardless, it was fucking hot._ He revelled in it as Mycroft fucked his throat raw, white points of light creeping in at the edges of his vision as his brain screamed for oxygen. He was determined to hold it together until Mycroft came. He dug his fingers tightly into Mycroft's jeans-clad arse and pulled him even deeper. Swallowing hard, he could feel the muscles in his throat working the sensitive head of his cock.

Mycroft let out a guttural moan, trying not to be too loud, and failing. His knees went weak as he came deep inside Greg's throat, and he was almost glad for the relative support of the tight jeans and the combat boots. Greg sucked him down eagerly licked his cock clean. His eyes were watering from the intensity and force of it. "Fuck, that was good My. Thanks."

Mycroft pulled Greg to his feet and laughed as he tucked himself back into his jeans. "I believe I should be thanking you. C'mon, let's get out of here before one of us loses our job."

They wandered down the relatively empty streets off the main road – two punks holding hands – one ran the British government, and the other, parts of Scotland Yard. A lot had changed since Margaret Thatcher.

"So, My. You were a pretty good sport about the tube. We can take a taxi back if you want."

"No, I'll deny it if anyone asks, but I sort of enjoyed it. And seeing Sherlock with that harpoon…"

"Yeah, what the fuck was that about?"

Mycroft shrugged. "We could always go and find out."

Greg smiled. "You _want_ him to see you dressed like this, don't you."

"No, Gregory. I want _both_ of them to see me dressed like this. Because I'm yours, you bought me these fantastic clothes, and I want _you_ to show me off."

Between his tight jeans and the intensity of the blowjob, Greg didn't think his cock could get any harder, but hearing Mycroft say that? It did.


	7. Punk Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft, all decked out in punk gear, stop by 221B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John)  
> Warning: mild sibling incest (kissing)  
> Thanks to non_canonical, {IBegToDreamAndDiffer} and deklava for their betas and feedback!

Mycroft and Greg left Camden market and got back on the tube, both looking like Sid Vicious having a bit of a midlife crisis. It wasn't that they didn't look good – on the contrary, they were getting more than their fair share of admiring glances – they just had a good twenty years on the other punks in the area.

The train was much busier this time; all the seats were full and the aisles were a crush of people. Mycroft was rather shocked to see people giving them space. It wasn't much space, but people weren't pressed up against him or pushing him into the door. He looked at Greg, who just laughed. "It has its benefits. Especially at rush hour. Sometimes I think I should go to work like this and change when I get there."

When they got off the tube at Baker Street, Mycroft felt like everyone was staring at them. He stiffened, the self-conscious dread returning with a vengeance.

Greg gave him a wicked grin and whispered in his ear. "You've always been a badass – now you look like one. Own it. You can always have them shot later if they give you any trouble."

"You're right, Gregory." He grabbed Greg's hand and they headed towards Sherlock and John's flat.

Mycroft let them in the front door using his own key. He wanted this visit to be relatively unannounced. He did plan to knock once he got upstairs, though. _God knows what we'd walk in on._

Mrs Hudson heard the front door open and came out into the hallway. The normally garrulous landlady was at a complete loss for words, and she stood there for a second with her mouth hanging open. She eventually stammered out a greeting. "Um, Mr Holmes… Detective Inspector… are you going to a costume party?"

"I'm sure it's something like that, Mrs Hudson." Mycroft gave her one of his patented close-mouthed smiles, and she retreated nervously to her flat.

"Shouldn't we text them or something?"

Mycroft laughed. "Too late for that. Sherlock will have heard the front door open."

Greg knocked on the door and waited for a response. Sherlock's steps were fast and agitated as he headed for the door. It swung open in a rush, only for time to slow to a crawl as Sherlock took in his brother's appearance.

John glanced up from his paper and thought, 'Oh good lord. It's going to be one of _those_ afternoons.' That was quickly followed by a happy sort of realisation that perhaps it would be.

Mycroft just smiled with all the subtlety of a piranha and revelled in his brother's silence. It signalled one small victory in their on-going war, however amicable it had recently become. "Aren't you going to invite us in, Sherlock?"

Sherlock recovered his wits enough to motion them inside.

"I'd always figured you for an ex-punk, Lestrade. But _you_?" He stared at his brother in disbelief.

Mycroft nodded at Greg, indicating for him to speak. "Mycroft needed a different look. I wanted to see him in tight jeans and leather. It suits him, yeah?"

John spoke up, his voice filled with either lust or awe. "Um, yeah."

Sherlock shot John a look. "And what are you doing _here_ , My? Surely you should be at home, doing… whatever it is you _do_ in jeans that tight." Sherlock wished his voice didn't sound so strained.

John piped up from the side of the room, a little too enthusiastically. "Well, I quite like it."

Greg grinned at John. "Yeah, me too."

Not wishing to be upstaged, Sherlock petulantly remarked, "Yes, yes. It's very nice, in sort of a post-apocalyptic way. Really though, aren't you both a bit old for this?"

"Oi! A little respect, Sherlock. Didn't you ever learn not to mess with punks?" Greg shot John a quick glance. John nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Sherlock was, of course, along for the ride. His voice oozed dramatic contempt. "Oh, I'm not sure I'd call you punks – more like middle-aged poseurs. The only leather Mycroft has ever owned has been riding tack."

Greg slammed Sherlock against the wall with a force he usually reserved for murder suspects. "I warned you, you toffee-nosed little prat." Greg pinned Sherlock to the wall. "You're going to regret that."

Sherlock flashed him a feral grin, full of teeth and lust. "I hope so."

John settled comfortably back into his seat. _This should be worth watching._ He could already feel the blood rushing towards his groin.

Greg stepped back slightly as Mycroft moved forward. Using his MI5 training, Mycroft twisted one of Sherlock's arms up between his shoulder blades. With a small yelp of pain from his brother, he pushed Sherlock to his knees in front of Greg and held him there firmly.

Greg looked down at Sherlock. "You've got a lot of nerve, laughing at us. You're in a bleeding dressing gown, for fuck's sake."

"I just got out of the bath – which is something you could both use, actually. Really. I don't know how you go out in public looking like that."

"You're a fine one to talk, Sherlock – riding the tube covered in blood and carrying a harpoon." Mycroft kneed his brother in the back and looked at Greg. "Shut him up, will you?"

"Gladly." Greg was already working on the flies of his impossibly tight jeans. They were only getting tighter. He freed his impressive cock and pushed his jeans and pants down just enough for comfort.

Sherlock seemed to be relishing his role. He turned his head to the side. "I don't think so. You filthy punks should have it off with each other. If you think I'm going to suck you off, you're sorely mistaken."

Greg smiled menacingly, "No. You'll be the one who's sore. My?"

Mycroft grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's hair and forced his head around so he was facing Greg. "You're going to suck his cock, and you're going make sure he enjoys it."

Sherlock was able to get out "I don't think…" before Greg filled his mouth.

Mycroft held Sherlock in place as Greg pushed into him. Greg thrust in as deep as he could, cutting off Sherlock's air, and stayed there. Greg looked down at Sherlock's mouth stretched around his cock. "Well, pretty boy? Need to breathe yet?"

Sherlock shook his head, defiantly.

Mycroft shoved him forward and Greg's cock went a fraction of an inch deeper.

Sherlock was clearly determined not to breathe, but his body betrayed him and he pulled back, desperate for air. Mycroft and Greg both backed off immediately, and Sherlock gasped for breath, the oxygen flooding his brain. Greg gave him a second to recover before he thrust back in.

"You like it rough, eh? None of your posh little friends ever fucked you like this, did they?" The wet heat of Sherlock's mouth felt bloody fantastic and he was getting caught up in the roleplaying. His days as a punk had been far less exciting, sexually, and he was happy to make up for lost time. "I think you should have a go as well, My. He needs practice, but he's not bad." Sherlock shot Greg a filthy look.

Greg pulled his cock out of Sherlock's mouth. "Get those clothes off him, My. I want to see what this tosser looks like."

Mycroft pulled Sherlock to his feet, shoved him against the wall face-first, and pulled off his dressing gown and pyjama trousers.

"Nice arse. I think we should have that, too." The lust in Greg's voice had nothing to do with the role.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock around to face them. Sherlock stood there, breathing heavily, his prick straining and oozing pre-ejaculate.

"Oh look, My. The little prat is getting off on it." Greg slammed Sherlock back against the wall again and caught his mouth in a bruising kiss that was more teeth than tongue. His hand found Sherlock's prick and gave it a few rough pulls. Sherlock moaned into Greg's mouth, despite himself. Greg pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "'Ere. You have a go."

Mycroft took his place, a greedy look on his face as he kissed his brother roughly. "Mm. Not bad, tastes posh." Mycroft tried not to smile as he said the words. While Greg could pull off a convincing lower class accent, Mycroft was well aware that he couldn't.

John giggled softly, and all three of them turned to look at him. He flushed at the attention. "Um, sorry." He'd been sitting there quietly, stroking himself as he watched them put Sherlock in his place.

Greg spoke up. "Not enough just to watch, eh? You want it rough too?"

John nodded, afraid of what he'd say if he opened his mouth.

Greg looked over at Mycroft. "Take your pick, My."

"I think I'll take the little friend. He looks harder to break."

John felt himself get harder as he hurried to shed his clothes. He had a submissive streak a mile wide for Mycroft under normal circumstances. _Dressed like that, though? And rough?_ _Fucking hell. Sign me up._

John hurried over to Mycroft, dropped to his knees in front of him, and started working on Mycroft's studded leather belt.

Greg smiled. "Good. Because I'm not done with this one yet." He turned back to Sherlock. "You could learn a few things from your friend."

"I already have," Sherlock snarked.

Greg pushed Sherlock back down to his knees. "That's enough from you. Get down there and finish what you started."

Sherlock was entirely too turned on to think of another witty comeback and started sucking on Greg's cock.

John finished with Mycroft's jeans. He'd never seen Mycroft wear anything this tight, or this casual, or this… leathery. Even the combat boots were making him weak. He'd always had a thing for combat boots.

Mycroft wasn't completely hard – the jeans had prevented it. That changed as soon as John released Mycroft's prick from its denim prison. He grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth, sucking hard.

Mycroft pulled John off his cock and back to his feet. He pushed John against the wall and pinned him there. "Not yet. We haven't even met. You are?"

"John."

"Wrong. The right answer is, 'Yours.' You are?"

"So fucking yours."

"Thought so." Mycroft smiled and started devouring John's mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.

John gave himself over to Mycroft's assault on his mouth, giddy at the roughness of it. It had been ages since he'd submitted to Mycroft like this. _Not since the hotel. Too long. Much too long._ Mycroft's nails raked along his craning neck and down his throat, leaving small red lines in their wake. Mycroft's other hand fisted his hair – pulling too hard and yet not enough. John let out a feral moan into Mycroft's mouth, not wanting it to end.

Mycroft pulled back at that, remembering where he was. He took one look at John and realised there was going to be a discussion about this later. John wanted, or quite possibly needed, to submit, and apparently he didn't do that with Sherlock.

"This one likes it rough, too." He pushed John to his knees, and John's hungry mouth latched onto his cock once more, sucking and teasing as if his life depended on it. Mycroft looked at John with affection. _Perhaps he just needs to submit more often when we're all together like this._

Sherlock's world had been reduced to the length of Greg's cock. Greg wasn't being considerate at all. He was fucking Sherlock's face too hard and too fast, not giving him a chance to breathe. It was exactly what Sherlock wanted. Sometimes you didn't want ' _considerate_ ,' you wanted _'fucked so hard you forget your name.'_ You wanted your throat fucked raw.

Sherlock dug his fingers into the cheeks of Greg's arse and pulled him even deeper into his throat. He swallowed around the head of it. He pulled back then, resisting Greg's thrusts, and teased the head of Greg's cock, flicking his tongue over the fraenulum. Sherlock was starting to doubt his own technique. _This usually works on John._ Then Greg's fist tightened in his hair – Greg shoved in as deep as he could and came in thick, hot spurts down Sherlock's throat. Greg held him in place until he'd finished coming, then pulled him off his spent cock.

Sherlock looked up – Greg seemed a little dazed. Apparently he'd done a good job, after all.

Greg's voice was ragged when he spoke. "Not bad, pretty boy."

Sherlock smiled up at him, his lips swollen and his face flushed. "You weren't so bad yourself."

They both turned to watch Mycroft and John. Sherlock was still painfully aroused. The sight of his brother towering above him, dressed like _that_ – spiked collar, tight t-shirt, tight jeans around his thighs, combat boots – _and_ fucking John's face – it was too much. He reached down to bring himself off.

"Oi. None of that. You'll wait 'til he's done."

Sherlock reluctantly took his hand off his own cock and sat back on his heels to watch. He knew Mycroft was only half an inch taller than he was, but he _looked_ so much taller in those tight jeans. _And those boots – I just want to get down there and lick them. Christ, where did that come from?_ He looked at Mycroft, wondering if he'd picked up on one of his thoughts, but Mycroft was completely consumed by the expert attention from John's mouth.

Sherlock crawled over to Mycroft and examined the boots. _They actually look fairly clean. Certainly no worse than those cultures I 'sampled' the other day._ With a shrug and a healthy belief in his own immune system, Sherlock bent down and placed a long deliberate lick over the toe of one of the boots.

Mycroft had seen Sherlock crawling towards him. _Odd._ When he saw Sherlock's tongue wetly caressing the worn leather, it put him over the edge. He grabbed Sherlock's hair and pulled him up so he was kneeling next to John. Pulling out of John's mouth just in time, he let out a low moan and his eyes fluttered closed as he came over both their chests.

Sherlock glanced at John for permission before he started lapping at Mycroft's cock, cleaning him. Once Sherlock was finished, Mycroft stepped back from them and pulled Greg closer. "I think we should let these two finish each other off. What do you think?"

Greg just murmured his assent as he grabbed Mycroft's spiked collar and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

John and Sherlock stood up and John gently pushed his lover against the wall. He bent his head and licked Mycroft's warm semen from Sherlock's chest. Sherlock moaned. "Oh John, share…" John leant in and kissed Sherlock; Mycroft's taste mingled with their own. Then it was Sherlock's turn. His lapping tongue cleaned John's chest and the ritual was repeated.

John pressed his body into Sherlock's and rubbed hard against him. Sherlock bent down and whispered in John's ear. "Perhaps we need to get you some of those jeans…" John reached a hand between them, grabbing both their cocks, and Sherlock did the same. Sherlock leant his forehead on John's as they were finally able to concentrate on their own need.

Mycroft pulled away from Greg long enough to whisper, "Want to watch?"

Greg almost laughed. "Perv."

Mycroft smiled as they both turned to watch Sherlock and John. "Never said I wasn't."

Sherlock and John were lost in their own world as they got each other off. If their heated whispers were to be believed, they both had a thing for tight jeans and combat boots. And it sounded like Sherlock wanted to get John a spiked collar.

Mycroft leaned over to Greg. "See what you started? There might be another punk revolution yet."


	8. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg head home after their time with John and Sherlock. Mycroft spots some untapped potential in Greg, and Greg is more than happy to explore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg)  
> Thanks to non_canonical for her beta!   
> Warnings: mentions of knife play and very mild knife play

"I've never seen anyone silence Sherlock quite that effectively before." Mycroft stretched out in the back of the black sedan, all traces of stress and tension gone from his long, lean body. The driver had been somewhat taken aback by his appearance, which owed more to the Sex Pistols than Savile Row.

"He needs a cock in his mouth more often."

"I don't think any of us would disagree with that. Not even Sherlock. I think he's wishing he'd gone through a punk phase now."

"My punk youth wasn't half as exciting as that. Got some good music out of it, mind you, but it wasn't much for the sex." Greg leant back against the soft leather and rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder. It was only early afternoon, but it had been an exhausting day. Morning in Camden market had netted Mycroft a delicious new wardrobe, and lunchtime at 221B had gotten them very enthusiastic blow-jobs from Sherlock and John. It was a good time to be punk.

"That's the second time, now." Mycroft seemed lost in thought as he said it.

"Hm?" Greg looked up at Mycroft, quizzically.

"That's the second time I've seen you top Sherlock. Quite effectively, I might add."

Greg shrugged, his posture a little defensive.

Mycroft leaned over and placed a kiss on the side of his face. "Don't apologize, love. I just didn't realise you had any switch tendencies."

"Some, I s'pose. It could just be retaliation for all the shit he gives me at work."

"How would you feel about learning how to top, Gregory?"

Greg raised an eyebrow.

"Only if you want to, love." Mycroft looked away and a faint tinge coloured his cheeks. "Although, I must admit, my motives aren't completely unselfish."

Gregory Lestrade wasn't a Holmes (well, not yet), but it was obvious what Mycroft was getting at. "I thought you only topped. I mean, I know… John… the other day with the corsets… but…"

"It's nice to let go sometimes. You know that. It would be even nicer if I could do that with you, my love." Mycroft searched Greg's face for signs of emotion. _Curiosity… and intimidation. Fair enough._

"Yeah, okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"It's not like there's much for you to learn, mind you. You've already got the attitude down."

Greg got up out of his slouched position and climbed into Mycroft's lap, his knees on either side of Mycroft's hips in the plush leather. He leant in until he was about an inch from Mycroft's face. "So…" he whispered the words, barely moving the air between them. "You're telling me you want me to force my cock down your throat so far you can't breathe?" Greg could feel his heart beating in his chest. This wasn't what he was used to with Mycroft – not at all – but the thought of it was making him hard - making them both hard, by the feel of it.

Greg leant in ever so slightly closer and ran his tongue over Mycroft's open lips. His lover was breathing faster and his eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving a muscle. "You want me to tie you up and use you like a cheap whore, don't you?"

Mycroft sucked in a deep breath and thrust his groin up against him. _That's a yes, then._ Greg used both hands to press him back against the seat. "You're more of a cock slut than you let on. Perhaps I should take you bent over your big wooden desk at that posh office of yours. Fuck you so hard you want to scream, but you wouldn't be able to make a sound because the Korean Ambassador is in the next room. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Mycroft nodded; his breathing was so heavy he was almost panting. "What else do you want, Mycroft? Tell me." Greg's voice was a low, commanding whisper.

"Sometimes I…"

"What?"

"Sometimes I need pain. It clears my head. I'd like you to be the person to give me that."

Greg was almost overcome by emotion at that. "Anything, love." Mycroft had stumbled on the words – it probably wasn't an easy thing for him to admit. _Perhaps he thinks I'm not comfortable with pain play. The logistics, perhaps, but not the concept._ "You'd like me to crop that beautiful arse of yours, wouldn't you? You want to feel it while you sit there meeting with the Prime Minister. Every time you shift in your seat, you'll feel it. You'll remember being bent over with your arse in the air, begging for more. You're going to beg for me, aren't you, Mycroft?"

"Oh, god. Yes." Mycroft swallowed.

Greg leaned back, squirming against Mycroft's erection. He yanked Mycroft's t-shirt from his jeans and scraped his fingernails down Mycroft's chest. "Yes, _what_?"

Mycroft had opened his eyes and was gazing at him with a mixture of lust and amusement. "Yes… Gregory."

"Mm. You need to learn some manners." Greg climbed off Mycroft and sat in the seat beside him. "Jeans – off. Now."

"Here?"

"Do you want me to cut them off you? Yes, fucking here."

Mycroft's brain lit up unexpectedly at the mention of a knife. _Really? I thought I knew all my kinks by now._ Images of Greg delicately running the sharp point of a knife down his chest, leaving a tiny trail of blood in its wake, went through his head. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. _Not relevant at the moment._ He started working on his ridiculously tight jeans, somewhat of a challenge given his tumescence.

Greg noticed the pause and the brief shake of the head. "Later. No knife play in a moving car."

Mycroft looked a little startled. _Did he just hear that?_

"No, but I'm not as slow as Sherlock thinks I am."

 _Jesus. I wonder if I can teach him how to hear me like Sherlock can?_ Mycroft realised he still didn't have his jeans down and shuffled in his seat, hurrying to comply. Between the boots and the tightness of the jeans, they weren't coming all the way off.

Greg's mouth was dry. _That's one hell of a sight. The half-down jeans are just immobilising him._ "That's good enough." He reached over and forcibly pulled Mycroft over onto his lap, his bare arse lying there in front of him, making his mouth water. He tried to avoid thinking about Mycroft's hard cock pressing into his leg. Thinking about that wasn't going to help his concentration one bit.

Greg leaned over to whisper in Mycroft's ear. "I think you've been a top so long you've forgotten your manners. Perhaps a little punishment will help you remember them. What do you think?" He gave a brief flick at Mycroft's ear with his tongue.

"I think you'll have to remind me."

 _If that's not an invitation…_ He brought his hand down hard on Mycroft's arse, pleasantly surprised at the feel of it. It made his hand tingle. There was a lovely hand-shaped red mark on the otherwise pale flesh of Mycroft's arse. He'd heard Mycroft suck in his breath, but otherwise there had been no vocal reaction. Greg bent down and nipped at his ear again, as he hissed, "Well?"

"Harder." Mycroft's voice was low and breathy. He might have amazing self-control, but he was far from unaffected.

Greg's hand flew through the air, landing on bare skin with a sharp 'crack' this time.

"Ngghh."

The sound went straight to Greg's cock. _That_ was not a sound Mycroft Holmes normally made. It was a pained, lust-filled sound that begged for more. He gave him more. Repeatedly. Mycroft was squirming on top him, partially from the sensations, and partially to stimulate his aching cock. His arse was an angry shade of red now, and Mycroft was openly moaning at each slap of Greg's hand.

Greg knew the driver could hear them, but he really didn't care. The driver probably thought _he_ was getting spanked. As far as Greg knew, Mycroft had never been spanked in the back of his own limousine. Each blow, and the reaction to it, was just making him harder. It felt good to control someone's pleasure like this.

"Have you remembered your manners yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Glad to hear it." He rubbed his hand over Mycroft's tender arse, and Mycroft flinched a little at the touch. Greg checked the side console. _Yep. Lube, Jelly Babies, and wet wipes._

At the sound of the console opening, he could feel Mycroft tense. "Perhaps I'm just going to feed you Jelly Babies." He got the Jelly Babies out as well, just to be perverse. The white paper bag made enough noise to cover the 'snap' of the lube container. Greg grabbed the back of Mycroft's spiked leather collar and pulled his head back. Mycroft opened his mouth and extended his tongue just beyond his lips. Greg delicately placed a Jelly Baby into his mouth. Mycroft moaned as the sweetness made his mouth water.

"Another?"

"Yes, please."

This time, Greg didn't pull Mycroft's head back – he surreptitiously slicked up his other hand before feeding Mycroft another Jelly baby.

As the second sweet hit his tongue, Mycroft felt one of Greg's thick, lubed fingers thrust deep into his arse. He almost choked on the Jelly Baby as he let out a surprised 'ngghh!' _Oh yes, he definitely has good instincts. I wasn't expecting that until after the Jelly Babies._ He pushed back onto Greg's finger, which was immediately removed.

"Lie still, or you get nothing."

Mycroft willed his body to comply as Greg teased the outside of his hole, daring him to move. Greg's hand dropped lower, teasing his balls, rubbing the skin gently between his fingers. When he moved his hand back up, his finger was still teasing – still tantalizingly _there_ , but not inside. "Please."

"Tell me what you want. Be specific.

 _Specific. Dirty?_ "I want your thick fingers in my tight, greedy hole." He was rewarded with another thrust deep inside.

Greg's eyes had gone wide at the words coming out of Mycroft's mouth. _God, that's hot. I need to have_ him _talk dirty. Find out what he likes._

"Why?" Greg's finger moved slowly, carefully avoiding Mycroft's prostate.

"Because I'm a filthy little cock slut who just wants to be filled up with anything you'll give me."

Greg smiled as he pressed down on Mycroft's prostate and started massaging it. He felt Mycroft tense against it, willing his body not to move. _Christ. I would have moved._ The moans coming out of Mycroft's mouth compensated for any movement.

He pulled out and thrust two fingers back in. Mycroft's moan was muffled this time. Greg looked over and saw Mycroft biting his own wrist in an attempt to silence himself.

He felt the wetness of Mycroft's pre-come on his leg – there was so much it had soaked through his jeans. "Don't you dare." He twisted the two fingers inside him. "I'm going to get you nice and ready for later, but you don't get to come until I get my cock up your arse, and that's _not_ going to be in this car."

Mycroft shuddered slightly as this sunk in. _Spanked arse. Hard cock. Tight jeans. Oh, and punk gear on top of it all. One embarrassing walk from the car to the flat._ His thoughts evaporated as Greg added a third finger.

Greg fucked him more vigorously now, his fingers easily sliding in up to the second knuckle. He used his thumb to rub against Mycroft's balls. A quick glance – the teeth marks were getting deeper. "You can moan you know – I just said you couldn't move."

Mycroft nodded and appeared to bite down harder.

Greg realised this wasn't about noise level. "Oh, you little pain slut, you. It's not enough that I've got my fingers in your arse doing _this._ " He brushed over his prostate a couple times and twisted his fingers roughly. "You want more, don't you?" Greg wondered why he was biting his wrist – there were better ways to produce pain. _Oh. Bruising. Hidden by shirt cuffs._ "You want to leave a bruise that you can touch afterwards, at work. Each time it aches, you'll remember me doing this." He hit his sweet spot again, and he felt Mycroft convulse with pleasure.

Mycroft nodded, impressed. Greg had gotten it exactly right.

Greg pulled his fingers out and gave him a quick slap on the arse. "Get dressed. We're almost there. Here, have a Jelly Baby." Greg popped one into Mycroft's mouth as he pulled himself off Greg's lap and gingerly pulled up his jeans.

Mycroft looked up at him through his eyelashes and smiled. "You're awfully good at this, you know."

Greg gave him a dazzling smile in return. "I am, aren't I?" He was almost giddy. He pulled Mycroft in and gave him a quick kiss. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"This. I didn't know it'd be this much fun. And I'm not done with you yet."

"Thank god for that."

The car pulled up next to the door to Mycroft's building they got out, both of them walking a little stiffly. Greg held his backpack in front of the obvious erection in his jeans. He let Mycroft suffer. (It wasn't much of a walk – more like a few steps.)

As soon as they were in the flat, Greg was back in his role. He dropped the backpack on the ground and pushed Mycroft back against the wall. He pinned Mycroft's wrists against the wall and kissed him roughly. Mycroft eagerly reciprocated, and for a few long minutes, they just explored each other's mouths.

Greg pulled back and took in Mycroft's appearance. He already looked well-fucked and they hadn't even started yet. There was a lovely red bite-mark on his wrist. His hair was a tousled mess. His lips were swollen and red. _Gorgeous._

"On your knees. I want to see what that gorgeous mouth of yours can do." He knew what it could do. It had done wonderful things many times before, but never _quite_ like this. This shimmering veil of dominance let him see everything with new eyes.

Mycroft fell to his knees and quickly undid Greg's jeans, pulling them down as far as he could.

Greg sighed – it felt good to be finally free of them. It felt even better when Mycroft's mouth closed over the head of his cock and started teasing him back to full hardness. Deep long strokes were alternated with tongue flicks to his frenulum. Another stroke would be punctuated by a swirl of Mycroft's tongue around the head of his cock. He'd enjoyed fucking Sherlock's mouth earlier, but this – this was incredible. It was practice, and talent, and finesse. _Only Mycroft Holmes can turn a blow-job into an art form._ He reluctantly pulled Mycroft off his cock and slammed him against the wall again, kissing him senseless.

"Undo your jeans."

Greg greedily eyed Mycroft's thick cock. "Mm. All for me. Tell me what you want. Be specific."

"I want you to make me scream." Mycroft's voice was low and ragged.

"Oh, I'll make you scream. I'm going to stuff that lovely hole of yours full of my cock. You were so greedy for my fingers; I'll just be able to force myself right in there."

Greg realised things would be a lot easier if Mycroft's jeans were off, but that required taking off the combat boots…

"I can't wait any longer, you little cock tease. I'm just going to slash your jeans and fuck you through the hole. Would you like that?"

"Oh god, yes." Just the thought of it made him weak. _Christ. I definitely have a knife kink. How did I not know about this?_

Greg groped around in his pocket for his penknife. "Turn around and brace yourself." He flipped open the pocket knife. "Don't. Move."

Mycroft's jeans were already open, so Greg had room to pull the back of his jeans out a bit and get his hand in between Mycroft's skin and his knife. He delicately worked the point in, blade up, then quickly it pulled up and away from Mycroft. There was a satisfying rip of denim as the material gave way. Greg smiled, pleased with himself.

Mycroft was already braced against the wall and ready for him. Greg kicked Mycroft's feet out, spreading his legs. "You've been teasing me all night, you little slut. This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He ripped the hole in the jeans open a little wider.

"Yes, please…" His voice was desperate.

Greg lined up his cock against Mycroft's still-slick hole and shoved in with one hard thrust.

"Nggghhh. Ohhh."

He was buried deep in Mycroft's arse, but the usual slap of skin on skin was missing. _Oh, odd._ He'd never fucked anyone through clothes before – his balls hit denim, not skin. Bracing his hands on Mycroft's hips, he started pounding into him. "Don't come until I say." _Which isn't going to be long, at this rate. So fucking tight. Bloody hell._

Mycroft tilted his hips so Greg would have a better angle. It was a delicious torture, having Greg hit his sweet spot so consistently, but being denied the privilege of orgasm.

Greg could feel his own orgasm coalescing in the near distance. He wrapped his hand around Mycroft's cock and let his thrusts do the work. "Come for me, my gorgeous little slut." As his own orgasm ripped through him, he leaned over and bit Mycroft's shoulder through his t-shirt. Hard.

That did it. The pain kicked Mycroft over the edge and he let out a throaty scream as he came, shuddering, all over Greg's fist. Greg held him as he came, pulling out of him once they were both finished. Mycroft was still braced against the wall, trembling slightly. Greg grasped Mycroft's shoulders and pulled him back so they were facing each other. He looked at him with concern. "You okay, love?"

Mycroft smiled, weakly. "More than okay. You were amazing."

"C'mon, let's go get cleaned up." He pulled up his jeans and they headed back toward the bedroom.

As they stripped off their clothes, Mycroft stared at his t-shirt and started laughing. "You're hell on clothes, Gregory Lestrade."

"Huh?"

"Well, you slashed my new jeans and you bit right through my t-shirt." He held the shirt up to the light to show Greg the holes.

"I'll buy you replacements. I can't let you _not_ wear tight jeans now that I've seen you in them."

Mycroft smiled. _I rather fancy them myself. Especially the effect they have on you._


	9. Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg visits Mycroft at work, seeking "cooperation" on a case. Mycroft ends up giving his complete cooperation, and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg)  
> Thanks to non_canonical for the beta!

"The Detective Inspector is here to see you, sir. He says it's urgent."

"Please send him in. When is my appointment with the Ambassador?"

"He should be here at any moment, sir."

"Very well. I'm not to be disturbed."

"Of course, sir."

Mycroft stood up to greet his lover and was shocked to see him looking angry.

"It's not much to ask, you know - a little cooperation. We do work for the same government after all."

Mycroft looked at him, completely puzzled. "Sorry?"

"The Franklin Case. I'm being denied access to the records about the main suspect. 'Classified,' they tell me." The DI grabbed Mycroft's tie and pulled him forcibly closer. "I know I'm just a humble policeman, but I don't take kindly to being shut out of my own case." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You need to make sure you keep me happy, Mr Holmes." He pulled Mycroft closer and kissed him.

"Gregory," Mycroft hissed, "As much as I would love to, I have to work. The ambassador will be here any moment now."

Still using the tie for leverage, Greg leaned in and nipped Mycroft's ear as he whispered, "I know."

He turned Mycroft away from him and pushed him against the wall, grasping his wrists so he could put them in handcuffs.

With anyone else, Mycroft would have twisted out of their grasp, pinned them to the floor, and most likely broken their arms. He fought his instincts and let himself be pushed to the wall, Greg's body warm against his own.

As Greg snapped on the handcuffs, he asked, "Do I have your cooperation in this, Mr. Holmes?"

In the outer office, they heard Anthea greet the ambassador. The clock was ticking, and the office clearly wasn't soundproof.

"You have my full cooperation, Detective Inspector." Mycroft tried to keep his voice calm as Greg rubbed up against him. Just the idea of being heard in the outer office was getting him aroused. _Honestly, how on earth can I pass this up?_

"On your knees," Greg hissed, as he started undoing his trousers.

"Time..." They were communicating in frantic whispers. Mycroft got on his knees, the wool of his expensive suit sinking into the plush carpet.

"You don't… have… a choice." Greg's trousers and pants were around his ankles now, and he was pushing the fat head of his cock against Mycroft's lips. "C'mon. Take it, you slut."

Mycroft almost regretted telling Greg that he found filthy language arousing, but only because he was mortified by the instant effect it always had on him. He willingly opened his mouth and Greg pushed in, hard and deep. With his hands cuffed behind him, Mycroft almost lost his balance.

Greg braced Mycroft's head with his hands, wasting no time with foreplay or teasing. Mycroft's lips were stretched tight around him, and his mouth was warm and wet. It felt heavenly. He loved watching his cock disappear into Mycroft's eager, willing mouth. He often marvelled at just how deep Mycroft was able to take him – it didn't seem like it should be possible.

Mycroft relaxed his mouth so Greg could fuck his face as hard as he wanted. He gave himself over to it, the headiness of the submission making his own cock hard. He pulled back his shoulders to take the pressure off his wrists – he didn't want any incriminating marks visible for his meeting with the ambassador. None of this was about subtlety or sensuality – it was about a quick, hard fuck and getting off on the risk of getting caught.

Greg was not quiet during sex. As Greg tried desperately to stifle his moans, he almost – _almost_ – decided this had been a bad idea. Mycroft looked up at him, his eyebrows grinning even if his full mouth couldn't. He was well aware of how difficult it was for Greg to keep quiet.

As Greg pulled Mycroft off his cock and up onto his feet, Mycroft whispered with a grin, "More difficult than you'd thought, eh?"

Greg struggled to maintain his role. He was dangerously close to giggling. He bit his lips, willing it to pass. "C'mon. I want you over the desk."

Mycroft headed toward his side of the desk. The desk was massive – the antique wood polished to a gleaming shine. The size would have overpowered a normal office, but Mycroft did not have a normal office.

"No, here. By the guest chair." Greg swept aside a few papers on the otherwise scrupulously neat desk and pushed Mycroft down onto it. He reached around and undid Mycroft's belt and trousers, letting the tailored clothes fall in a puddle at his feet. "Step out of them." He kicked Mycroft's feet apart, spreading his arse wide. "That's quite a view, Mr Holmes, with your arse barely covered by your shirt. What _would_ the ambassador think if I left you here like this and had him sent in?"

"You wouldn't."

"I might. It depends on how willing you are to cooperate on this case, Mr Holmes."

"I told you, anything you want."

"See, that's the thing. It's not _just_ information about the case that I want. I've been watching you for a long time, Mr Holmes. You haven't even noticed, have you? You stroll into my crime scenes and take whatever you want, without so much as a second thought. I've wanted to take you apart for a while, and now I'm going to take what _I_ want for a change. Have you ever had a cock up your arse, Mr Holmes?"

"Mycroft."

"What?"

"You've already had your cock in my mouth. If you're going to fuck me, we should at least be on a first name basis. Don't you agree?"

Greg pulled Mycroft's arms up by the handcuffs, forcing him uncomfortably against the desk. "It's Greg. But you can call me 'sir.' You're awfully rude for someone in your… predicament." Greg's hand moved to Mycroft's aching cock and closed around it.

Mycroft let out a moan.

"Quiet. Do I have to remind you where we are, or shall I just invite the ambassador in to watch? I'm not sure it would help your negotiating position." He grabbed one of Mycroft's arse cheeks and firmly squeezed it. "But as far as positions go, I'm quite fond of it."

Greg spotted an antique silver letter opener on the desk. The handle was ornately decorated, but the long blade was smooth and tapered to a point. He grabbed it and gently placed the point at the base of Mycroft's spine. He delicately ran the point down between Mycroft's spread cheeks, drawing small circles with it around the pucker of his hole.

"Please… sir."

"Tell me what you want."

"Anything… sir."

"Perhaps I should just fuck you with the handle of your own letter opener."

Mycroft sucked in a breath. The idea of it was so utterly _filthy_ , so wrong, and yet he would have happily agreed in an instant.

"But I don't think it would do much for the letter opener, and it sure as hell wouldn't do anything for me." He'd been slicking up his fingers from a small sachet of lube. "Besides, I think you'll enjoy this more." He thrust one of his fingers into Mycroft's arse. He arched off the desk, trying not to moan at the intrusion. "See – a little cooperation with the police isn't so bad now, is it?"

"I can be very cooperative." Mycroft's voice was ragged.

"I'm sure you can." Greg added a second finger and pushed it in roughly.

Mycroft stifled a small low grunt as Greg's finger brushed his prostate. "Please… I don't know if I can take this silently. I want it hard."

"You'll get it however I want to give it to you. But you're right – I'm not sure you can keep your dirty little mouth shut either. He reached under Mycroft's chest and retrieved the inevitable silk handkerchief from Mycroft's suit jacket. "I like you half dressed – it's a good look on you." He took the square of silk and stuffed it in his mouth. "Better?"

Mycroft mumbled his assent around the wet silk.

"Good, because I don't think we should keep the ambassador waiting too much longer, do you?"

"Mmmoo."

Greg smiled at the undignified, un-Mycroft-like sounds coming from his lover's mouth. "You should really work on your diction, Mycroft. I can barely understand you. I'd be happy to help you with it."

A string of vowels that sounded roughly like "I'm sure you would," if you had an imagination, tumbled from Mycroft's mouth.

"So, you want to feel this all afternoon, eh? Are you sure?"

A muffled assent.

"Oh, I'd like nothing better. You know I love it when I have to force my way inside you."

Mycroft gave a full body groan that sounded suspiciously like desperate need.

As much as he enjoyed teasing Mycroft, Greg didn't want to cause an international incident. He lined up his slick cock and braced himself against Mycroft. Pushing hard against the resistance, he buried himself balls-deep in one long, wet slide. The hot tightness of it was almost overwhelming – he took a couple deep breaths to regain his composure – he didn't want this to be over before it started.

Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath through his nose a Greg's thick cock breached him. He could feel Greg's hard length filling him, pushing relentlessly deeper, until he eventually felt Greg's hips against his arse. His muscles had clenched at the intrusion, but he didn't try to relax. He wanted to be able to feel the slight burn during his meeting with the ambassador.

Greg's powerful thrusts pushed Mycroft roughly against the desk. The flat front of the desk ensured Mycroft's cock was taking as much of a pounding as his arse. Greg leaned over to whisper in Mycroft's ear as he fucked him. "You needed this, didn't you? You're such a little cock slut, and you're all mine."

Mycroft nodded as a particularly hard thrust drove him into the desk. He was gaining a new appreciation for ridiculously heavy furniture. The stretch of his arse around Greg's thick cock felt incredible, but he didn't think he'd climax from this alone. He needed to touch his cock, but his hands were still frustratingly handcuffed behind his back.

As if reading his mind, he felt Greg's hand close around his cock, shielding it from the desk and giving it the sort of stimulation that would actually get him somewhere. He sighed around the silk stuffed in his mouth.

"I should just leave you like this - let you meet the ambassador with a raging erection and my come leaking out your arse." Even as he said it, his hand moved skilfully over Mycroft's aching prick.

The filthy thought of being denied orgasm and shamed in front of the ambassador only brought Mycroft closer to release. It was horrifying, and yet so incredibly arousing.

Greg bit his lip hard as he felt himself getting closer, wishing he had his own handkerchief. He changed his angle slightly to hit Mycroft's prostate more consistently and rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head of Mycroft's cock. With nothing more than a ragged gasp, he emptied himself deep inside Mycroft's arse, his knees going weak as the force of his orgasm hit him. Mycroft came then, all over the side of his desk.

It took them a while to recover. Greg regained enough presence of mind to retrieve the handcuff key from his trousers and unlock the cuffs. Greg pulled the square of wet silk from Mycroft's mouth as Mycroft rubbed at his wrists. Greg gave him a wicked look. "You're not quite done yet. Your desk is a mess." He glanced meaningfully at the front of the desk – directly in front of the guest chair. "I think you should clean that up."

Mycroft knelt on the floor, glad he kept his office scrupulously clean as he licked his own ejaculate from his desk. After making sure to get every last drop, he stood up and kissed Greg. "Thank you. Best day at the office I've had in ages." He dragged Greg towards the private bathroom so they could both clean up.

As they dressed, Mycroft pulled the cuffs of his shirt lower to hide the marks left by the handcuffs and wondered if the ambassador would notice the red indentations when they shook hands. His trousers were slightly crumpled and his handkerchief was ruined – at least for now – but those things, along with the pleasant aching in his arse, would just remind him of the pleasant interlude.

After another quick kiss, they moved closer to the outer office door.

"Thank you for coming by, Detective Inspector. I do hope I was able to help with your investigation."

"Indeed. I certainly appreciate your cooperation Mr Holmes. Thank you." Greg gave him a quick smile and winked.

As they exited the office, Anthea gave Mycroft a brief conspiratorial glance. Mycroft made a mental note to purchase her a small token of his appreciation.

"Good afternoon, Ambassador. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Please come in." Mycroft gave a slight bow, knowing he'd much rather show deference to Gregory, any day.


	10. Not What I Expected: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock visit Mycroft for a little light bondage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John)  
> Many thanks to my beta, Deklava!

"Tie me up, John."

They were lounging on the sofa, watching crap telly, and Sherlock had his head in John's lap.

"It was a miserable day at the clinic, Sherlock. I'm up for sex, but I honestly don't have the energy to top you at the moment. I'm sorry."

Sherlock pouted and John could feel his body tense. "Fine."

John gave a barely perceptible sigh. "It's just… well, if anyone is getting tied up tonight, I'd like it to be me. I could use the emotional release."

Sherlock stopped, mid-pout, and looked thoughtful. He picked up his phone and looked at John. "What about Mycroft?"

John cracked a small smile. "If he's game. You know I don't take much convincing." All Sherlock had to do was mention his brother and John's head was overrun with images of kneeling at the older man's feet.

Sherlock started tapping out a message on his phone. _Busy tonight? –SH_

The answer was almost immediate. _What did you have in mind? –MH_

_Bondage. Neither of us wants to top. Care to oblige us? –SH_

_Of course, brother-mine. I'll send a car. Bring a change of clothes, you might be here a while. –MH_

"He's in. He said to bring a change of clothes. Are you sure you're up for an extended fucking? You look tired, and you know how he gets." He deliberately emphasized the word 'fucking,' a dark smile on his lips.

John smiled. "If we're tied up, we won't have much of a choice, will we?"

"That's what I'm hoping."

The car didn't take long to arrive and was soon speeding them through the darkened streets.

When they got there, they were both surprised to see Mycroft dressed in tight jeans – Greg had bought him another pair after the pleasant demise of the first ones. A second-hand t-shirt finished the look.

Mycroft gave them a knowing smile as they took in his appearance. "A special request from Gregory."

 _I'll bet. I'd request that if I lived with him, too._ John felt his gaze drawn to Mycroft's bare feet – long, slender, and perfectly manicured. And somehow, obscene and scandalous. He felt the blood rushing towards his groin. _Fuck. I didn't even know I wanted that._

Mycroft eyed John with curiosity. "Really, John? I had no idea. Please, go ahead."

Sherlock had been too caught up in Mycroft's attire to notice anything. His head whipped around in confusion. John was standing there, staring at Mycroft's feet, frozen in position.

Mycroft's voice dropped an octave. "Would you rather I made you, John?" He knew the desire to submit when he saw it.

John nodded in mute agreement.

"On your knees." He pushed John down toward the plush carpet.

John gratefully knelt. Standing was overrated, and he was finding it increasingly difficult anyway.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise as John's tongue delicately traced the veins on the top of Mycroft's feet.

After a couple seconds, Mycroft strode into the living room and sat in a plush leather chair. John knelt where he was, slightly confused at the sudden change of plans. "John, you may continue in here. But I want you to crawl."

 _That's going to be difficult._ His jeans were already uncomfortably tight, but he started to make his way to the living room on his hands and knees.

Sherlock watched in fascination. Seeing John submit to Mycroft was nothing new, but the foot fetish – that was a new one. _Perhaps I should start wandering around our flat in bare feet_. Movement from the hallway caught his attention. _Lestrade._

Greg had gone to change his clothes after Mycroft had told him about Sherlock and John's visit. He stood there now, wearing only his butter-soft black leather trousers and his collar – _Mycroft's collar._ It was a cherished symbol of his submission to Mycroft, not the punk collar he sometimes wore. He gave Sherlock a cheeky grin. "Nice to see you both."

"You too." Sherlock found himself wishing he was wearing his own collar. Mycroft let him, sometimes, when they played together. If he behaved.

"Drink?"

"Just water, thanks." He'd already turned his full attention back to John, who had finally made it to the spot in front of Mycroft's chair.

John looked at Mycroft for permission, who nodded slightly. John lifted one of Mycroft's feet and began kissing the arch, massaging it with his tongue and caressing it with his hands.

Mycroft gave him a soft hum of approval. "Very nice. And you've never done this before?"

John shook his head.

"Well, it's always nice to learn something new about yourself, isn't it?"

John nodded, wondering what had driven him to foot worship. _They're very nice feet. Oh. And it's certainly submissive._ He picked up Mycroft's other foot, giving it the same amount of care and attention.

Sherlock accepted the glass of water from Lestrade, his eyes never once leaving his brother and John.

Mycroft looked at his brother. _Sherlock, kneel next to the chair._

Sherlock took a quick drink from his glass and set it on the table. He knelt next to the chair, facing John.

"Thank you, John." Mycroft placed his foot back on the floor. "Now, I'd like you both to explain why you're here. Sherlock, you first."

Mycroft expected brevity – there was no reason for long explanations. "I wanted to be tied up. John didn't want to be dominant tonight."

"When Sherlock asked me to tie him up, I realised I wanted the same thing. I need to submit. To you."

There was no trace of jealousy in Sherlock's eyes. He'd long since come to terms with John's _needs_ when it came to his brother.

"Very well. Please disrobe."

John felt a thrill go through his body. _Walking (crawling?) naked through the lavish flat to the Playroom was much more interesting than undressing once they were there._

As they removed their clothes and stacked them neatly on the floor, the extent of their arousal became obvious.

Sherlock finished undressing and knelt back at Mycroft's feet. "My, may I wear my collar, please?"

"That depends. Do you just want to be tied up and fucked, or do you want to submit?"

"Both."

"It doesn't work that way, little brother – you know that. If you choose to submit, the method of submission will be entirely at my discretion."

Greg looked at them both kneeling there naked, next to Mycroft, and dearly hoped he'd be allowed to participate, whatever they ended up doing.

Sherlock was torn. As much as he wanted to submit and place the choice in Mycroft's hands, he desperately wanted to be tied up and fucked. And submission might not include that. "I need to be tied up, Mycroft, and I'd like you to fuck me." He knew that getting fucked wasn't a given – at least not by Mycroft. He wouldn't put it past Mycroft to tie him up and then have Greg or John fuck him, or perhaps use a toy on him. "I'm sorry I can't just submit tonight, but this is what I want." He waited for Mycroft's 'disappointed' look.

Mycroft smiled, unexpectedly. "Very good, Sherlock. You're learning to be honest with your desires. I'm proud of you. I'll allow you to wear your collar, but you must comply with my wishes without question." He turned to John. "John, I'd like to collar you as well. This is not the first time you've freely submitted to me, and I'd like to give you a physical reminder of that to wear while you're here."

"Thank you, Mycroft. I'd like that."

Mycroft smiled. "Gregory, if you'd be so kind?"

Greg returned with two leather collars, both bearing platinum tags reading 'Property of Mycroft Holmes.' One was well-worn, the other clearly new.

John and Sherlock both bowed their heads as Mycroft fastened the collars around their necks.

To Sherlock, it was a sign of his brother's acceptance and love.

To John, it was letting go – letting Mycroft dictate his pain and pleasure. As the buckle was fastened around his neck, he felt himself relax and grow calmer. The stress of the tough day began to dissipate. _Mycroft will take care of me._

"Hands and knees, both of you. Gregory?"

Greg brought Mycroft two leather leashes, which were fastened to the D-rings on the collars. "Crawl to the Playroom."

Sherlock and John obediently positioned themselves on either side of Mycroft, who led them to the Playroom. Even dressed in tight jeans, Mycroft's bearing was distinctly regal.

When they arrived at the Playroom, he attached the leashes to a hook on the wall.

"Gregory, the new belt, please. And then I'd like you to keep Sherlock occupied."

Sherlock had to reign in his thoughts, and god knows his tongue, to prevent a complaint that would doubtless have earned him a taxi ride home. No matter how much he wanted Mycroft, there were wishes to be obeyed. He fingered the worn leather of his collar. _His wishes, not mine._ He smiled, knowing the two things were most often one and the same.

Greg retrieved an intimidating-looking leather belt from the cupboard and handed it to Mycroft. "Anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you Gregory." Mycroft pulled Greg closer and rubbed a fond hand along Greg's soft leather trousers. "You look exquisite in these, love." The hand got a lot less subtle and rubbed teasingly against his crotch. He lingered for a kiss before pulling back. "Make my brother work for it. You know how lazy he can be."

"I'll do my best."

Sherlock felt a frisson of pleasure at Mycroft's words. Sex with Greg was always enjoyable, but the thought of a little extra force more than made up for the disappointment of waiting for Mycroft.

After a final kiss, Mycroft turned his full attention to John. Taking his leash, he led John, crawling, to the corner of the playroom opposite the bed. It was far enough away from Greg and Sherlock to afford them a little privacy. "Kneel, please."

John shifted and knelt. He kept his back straight, not resting on his calves.

Mycroft gently touched his shoulder. "Relax."

John sank down onto his heels, his hands relaxed on top of his thighs. Mycroft crouched in front of him, and John was grateful for the closeness, and the temporary illusion of equality.

"It's been a while, John."

"Yes, sir." He paused – wishing, not for the first time, that Mycroft could read _his_ thoughts as well. It would be easier.

"Why did you wait?"

A swirl of thoughts went through John's head – _restraint, self-control, I don't want to fuck any of this up, I don't want to hurt Sherlock, I thought I could get over this_ , but only one answer came out. Quietly. "Sherlock."

"Mm. He does complicate things, doesn't he? He always has, and I'm sure he always will. But submitting to him in your relationship..." he paused. "It's not the same, is it?"

"No, sir."

"He can inflict pain, but he can't dominate you, can he?" Mycroft fingered John's collar, lightly. When his fingers brushed the buckle at the back, he pulled it tight against John's neck. He heard John suck in a lungful of air in arousal.

"No, sir." He was fully hard now and his cock ached. He ached. He needed this so badly he could taste it.

Mycroft released the collar and moved back a couple of inches. John almost followed him with his body, but caught himself at the last minute and held still.

"Tell me what you want, John. I want you to be specific."

"I want you to push my limits, sir. I want to lose myself in it. I want to please you."

Mycroft smiled. _Perfect._ No crass descriptions of sex acts, just a longing to cede his desires to another. Mycroft wondered if Sherlock would ever be able to submit to him like this. He doubted it. _Too much shared history._

"Is there anything you don't want tonight, John?"

"No, sir. Whatever you choose."

"Very well. I expect you to use your safeword if you need to." He leaned back in, his mouth close to John's ear. His voice dropped an octave - dark velvet over sharp steel. "Look at you." He let his hand brush over John's cock – another sharp breath, but surprising self-control. "Already begging for it, aren't you? I'm looking forward to pushing your limits, Dr Watson. By the time I'm done with you, you'll have earned that collar five times over." He gave it sharp tug before standing and walking over to the toy cabinet.

Delicious anticipation swirled in John's gut, mingled with more than a little lust and a small amount of fear. _Can I take this?_ A small voice in his mind echoed a response. _Mycroft will take care of you._

Mycroft pondered the nature of John's submission as he picked out the necessary implements. The 'prisoner belt' was a given – it had attachment points for cuffs, the hinged metal cock-ring would prove useful, and then there was the strap that ran from the cock-ring to the belt – it would hold any sort of toy securely in John's arse. _The toy…_ _no question there._ Mycroft selected one of the larger silicone dildos he had. It was two inches in diameter. _He wants his limits pushed, this should push them quite nicely._ He'd let Gregory use it on him before. _With preparation, it's filling. Without preparation…_ He wanted to see just how much John could take – that was what John had asked for, after all. _Wrist cuffs, thigh cuffs, nipple clamps. A nice length of rope._ He smiled – that would be particularly engaging. _A fleece-lined blindfold._ Satisfied, he selected his favourite riding crop. He placed the items in a small bag and returned to his kneeling submissive.

Standing behind John, he buckled the blindfold over his eyes. From his back jeans pocket, he removed a square silk handkerchief that usually resided in his lapel pocket. He lifted John's right hand and placed it in his grip. "If your mouth is full, and you need to call safeword, drop this."

' _Mouth is full…'_ The words echoed in John's head like a siren's tease. Kneeling in the darkness of the blindfold, he waited.

Mycroft stood and watched him, silently. John didn't move – didn't try to follow sounds or figure out what was going on. He just knelt.

"You won't orgasm without my permission." It was more a statement of fact than a threat, but John didn't know about the cock-ring yet. He detached the hinged metal device from the strap on the belt and opened it.

John gasped as Mycroft's hand circled his cock and balls and pulled them away from his body. He felt metal, lined with something soft – _some sort of silicone? –_ encase his erection and his balls. _Different. Usually the cock-rings he uses just go around the shaft._ He felt it close tightly around him, and a movement seemed to indicate something – a locking pin, perhaps? – being pushed into place. The sensation was odd – it felt as if someone with a firm grasp was holding his erection and his scrotum away from his body.

"Painful?"

"No, sir."

A wide leather belt was next, buckled snugly around his waist. Wrist and thigh cuffs followed. _Thigh cuffs. New._ His brain explored the possibilities. _Spreader bar? Some sort of rope attachments?_

He felt a rope being tied to one of the D-rings on his collar. Mycroft ran the end of the rope teasingly down John's stomach, causing gooseflesh. John felt pressure on his erection as… _what exactly? It feels like he's attached it to the cock-ring._

That was exactly what Mycroft had done. He looped the rope through an attachment point on the metal cock-ring and snugly tied it off back on John's collar. Right now, it was at the perfect length to prevent discomfort, but if John moved his head back… _that will come later, if he gets that far._

Mycroft looked at John with satisfaction. Now the fun could begin. He leaned down to whisper in John's ear. "It's not too late to back out, John. I'm going to push you further than you think you can take. It's not going to be easy. I want to hear you say you want this."

"I _need_ this, Mycroft."

_And I'll give it to you, John. And bring you back again._

Mycroft retrieved the dildo from the bag. Without warning, he started to press the gigantic head of it against John's lips. John couldn't see it, of course – that's why he'd blindfolded him.

John hurriedly licked his lips as the toy pushed against his mouth. _Fucking hell. This thing is huge._ His jaw ached as he tried to open it far enough. It just kept getting bigger. _If it's shaped like a cock, I haven't even taken the head of it yet. Good god._ And then the other shoe dropped. _Oh, fuck. This isn't just going in my mouth._ His cock, his arse, his whole groin throbbed at the idea. He'd taken thick cocks in his arse before – although Sherlock was long and had a decent girth, both Lestrade and Mycroft definitely fell into the 'thick and meaty' category. _Fuck, I've given both of them blowjobs and they were nothing like this._ Mycroft was still pushing it slowly, inexorably into his mouth. John's lips were stretched tight around the massive thing, and the back of his jaw – even his teeth ached at the intrusion. John felt panic rising as he struggled to take it, and then he felt Mycroft rest his hand on his back. The sensation of it calmed him a bit. _I can do this. Fuck, I have to do this._

Mycroft smoothed his hand across John's back before reaching up to cradle his head, fingers fisting John's short hair. Without warning, he shoved the last fraction of the massive toy in between John's lips.

John felt the huge head of it completely fill his mouth as his lips closed around the corona. He prayed Mycroft wasn't going to fuck his mouth with it.

Mycroft was. He pulled it out slightly; John's tightly stretched lips making an obscene sound as it left his mouth. "You can do it again John, the hard part is over." He braced John's head as he shoved it back into John's mouth, quickly this time. He saw John's hands automatically move toward his mouth to fight the intrusion and then smiled as he saw John force them back to his sides. "See, I said you could take it, didn't I?"

John nodded, feeling the obscene stretch in his lips and the skin of his face, the ache of his jaw, and the simple difficulty of breathing.

Mycroft pulled it back out and John started unconsciously moving his jaw, trying to rid himself of the ache. "Hold out your hands." Mycroft set the toy in John's outstretched hands as he unbuckled the blindfold.

 _God, it's heavy. It must weigh at least a pound._ As the blindfold came off, he stared at it. _It's huge. Fucking hell. That's never going to fit._

"It's preparation."

His mind was still completely occupied by the size of the toy, and he spoke without thinking. "For what?"

"For two of us."

The bottom fell out of John's mind.

* * *

_(to be continued…)_


	11. Not What I Expected: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'A little light bondage' turns into something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John)  
> Thanks to Deklava for the beta!
> 
>  **Warning:** mentions sibling incest

John was still trying to scrape his brain off the floor when Mycroft gently touched his shoulder. He realised he'd been staring at the toy in his hands, trying to wrap his head around the idea. He looked up at Mycroft.

"There might have been better ways to say that. I apologise."

"No…" John fumbled for words. His brain wasn't helping. _Two. TWO. Yes. Can't. (Fuck, yes.) Two! Fucking hell. Shit. (Two!) Fuck. Wait… now?_

Mycroft watched multiple emotions cross John's face as the idea sank in. John was looking at him – but more 'through him' than 'at him.' Mycroft cradled his hand over John's cheek. "John."

John's eyes focused and lost some of their 'deer in the headlights' quality.

"We're not going to do this now, John. We never will, unless you want to. It's all up to you." He cursed himself for springing this on John. The idea hadn't even occurred to him until John had started talking about pushing his limits. Then he'd selected the toy, which was certainly big enough. _But this isn't how I should have brought it up_. It needed to be discussed, negotiated. "I'm sorry. Do you want to stop?"

"No…" his voice was still distant, and then Mycroft could almost feel John pulling himself back into his body. "No. I don't want to stop. I want you to use that," he glanced at the toy, "on me. Now. Sir. We can negotiate the other part later." He gave Mycroft just the hint of a smile beneath his military bearing.

Mycroft let out a small, impressed huff and smiled. "Very well." Not for the first time, he was glad John had a good background in the dynamics of dominance and submission. _This could have gone very badly indeed, but he pulled it out of the fire._

"I have one request, sir." _If I'm going to do this with him and Sherlock, I want Sherlock to be a part of the preparation. Oh. Fuck. I assume he means it to be Sherlock and not Greg. I guess that's something we'll have to discuss._

"Of course."

"I'd like Sherlock and Greg to be here. For this, I mean."

"To observe or to assist?"

"I'll leave that decision to you."

Mycroft smiled. "Mm. Alright, let's join them."

When John turned around, he understood why it wasn't the other way around. Sherlock was bound with rope, spread-eagled and facing out, to the Saint Andrew's cross in the other corner of the room. Greg was in front of Sherlock, sucking him off with a cheeky smile. Sherlock was completely silent – no moaning, nothing. There was a look of intense concentration on his face.

As he heard Mycroft and John move, Greg stood up and gave Sherlock a hard slap on the arse. Sherlock still didn't make a sound. Greg chuckled. "I told him if he made a sound, I'd use my teeth. Haven't seen him this quiet in weeks – I should try it at work."

_Mycroft._

_I thought you were supposed to be silent, brother-mine._

_I know… but please ask Greg if I may speak now._

"Sherlock wants to know if he may speak. You're to be congratulated, Gregory – my efforts to silence him are rarely this effective." He was chuckling as well, now.

John tried to decide if the sight of Mycroft chuckling was endearing or terrifying. _I suppose it depends on the context. Fuck. I hope I never see that in the 'terrifying' context._

Greg, who was still quite pleased with himself, smiled at Sherlock. "Nice job, Sherlock. You can mouth off like a prat again now."

"Very amusing, Lestrade."

"Oh c'mon, you know you enjoyed it."

Sherlock cracked a small smile. "While this did fulfil the 'tying up' side of things," he glanced downward at his still-erect cock, "I don't believe I'm entirely finished."

"Oh, you're done for now, I think. Stay on my good side and I might finish you off later. Or perhaps even untie you." He shared a playful grin with Mycroft.

Mycroft gave Sherlock a tight smile and tugged at his brother's collar. "Are you quite finished, Sherlock? Because John would like you both to share in his submission."

Sherlock fell silent. Mouthing off to Greg was one thing, but Mycroft was another matter entirely.

"John, please untie my garrulous little brother. Gregory, a word, please."

Greg followed Mycroft out of the playroom, and closed the door behind them.

"What's wrong?"

"Gregory, I did something wrong – I spoke without thinking. John had asked me to push his limits. I suggested to him that double anal penetration might accomplish that."

Greg raised his eyebrows and tried not to let his mind wander down that particular dark alleyway. "And?"

"Well, obviously the four of us haven't discussed it, but I wanted to forewarn you. It's possible that he might want me and Sherlock to participate." The 'not you' was implied.

"And you're worried I'll be offended?"

"Well, yes."

Greg leaned in and kissed Mycroft gently. Pulling back, he looked in Mycroft's eyes. "Are you leaving me?"

Mycroft looked horrified. "Of course not!"

"Then I have no problem with it, love. In case you haven't been paying attention, very little about any of this bothers me, as long as I still belong to you…"

Mycroft fingered the leather collar around Greg's neck. "Sometimes I think I should be the one wearing this, Gregory. I'll always belong to you. Thank you for understanding."

Greg just smiled and kissed him.

When they returned to the playroom, John and Sherlock were both kneeling on the floor, waiting.

Mycroft's face lit up in approval. "I see John is a good influence on you, little brother. John, do you wish to negotiate the details now, or leave things for another evening? I completely understand if you want to do this at another time."

"I don't know how much I'll be able to take tonight, sir, but I'd like discuss it now."

"Of course. Let's move this to the living room for a bit, shall we?" Mycroft opened a panel in the wall to reveal a cupboard containing four dressing gowns.

John almost giggled. _I wonder if he buys them in bulk? He must. Harrods probably phones up to menswear when they see him walk in the door. 'Mycroft Holmes is here, better get the overstock of dressing gowns from the back.' No, wait. He'd probably have them delivered. I can't imagine him shopping. Perhaps he sends Anthea…_

"John?" Mycroft was offering him a dressing gown and had clearly been holding it for a few seconds already.

"Oh, sorry. Thank you." He went a little pink. "I, um… was just wondering how many dressing gowns you actually have. They seem to crop up everywhere."

Mycroft gave him a sly smile. "Someone has to keep the British economy afloat, John."

Sitting in the living room, Mycroft took the conversational initiative. "John would like to push his boundaries. I suggested that double anal penetration would accomplish that."

John nearly choked on his glass of water. Mycroft's clinical terminology almost made it more erotic.

"John, who would you like to participate in the actual penetration?"

John looked nervous. There was no way he could say this without hurting Greg's feelings. He glanced at Greg, who gave him a look that somehow managed to convey: 'It's okay. Really.'

"I'd like you and Sherlock to participate, Mycroft, but I'd also like Greg to be there, if he's okay with that. I don't know how much I'll be able to take, um, physcially, but I want him to at least be a part of this - even if it's only observing." He looked at Greg. "Like I said, if you're okay with that."

Greg beamed at him. "You joking? I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Very well. John, you understand that I plan to use the toy on you first, correct? Would you like me to work up to it, or would you prefer I make you take it like a common whore, without preparation?"

 _Oh, fuck._ Hearing Mycroft use language like that made his insides melt and his cock ache. "Use me, sir. I want you to make me take it like a whore. I want to feel it stretch me wide enough to take you both. I want it to hurt." As a doctor, he knew he could take it, provided Mycroft used enough lubricant. He might not be able to sit comfortably for a few days, but no medical damage would be done.

The effect of his own profane language was not lost on Mycroft. "I see you're as much of a cock slut as my brother, John."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, let's return to the playroom. I want to see how long it takes before you're begging both of us to fuck you."

John's body thrummed with a mixture of trepidation and arousal. He smiled as he thought, _Never ask Mycroft to do anything unless you're really, really sure about it. He never does anything by half measures._ He was sure about this, though, and the anticipation was making it hard to breathe.

"Up on the medical table please, John. Feet and legs in the stirrups. This is going to be enough of a challenge, without adding fatigue to the equation. I'm not going to restrain you." Mycroft held out his hand for John's dressing gown, which Sherlock placed on a chair.

John climbed onto the custom gynaecological examination table. _This is a first._ As he placed his legs in the stirrups, he felt very, very exposed. He felt a sudden rush of empathy for his female patients at the clinic.

"Sherlock, Gregory - you may stand or kneel. I wouldn't want your view to be obscured. Perhaps this is something we should all experience at some point."

_Fuck, My, yes! Yes, yes, yes!_

_Patience, brother-mine. This is not your night, but your enthusiasm is duly noted._ Mycroft gave Sherlock a predatory smile and slowly licked his lips.

It was obscene, filthy, and made Gregory Lestrade want to drop to his knees and beg to be a part of it.

John couldn't see the interaction between the two brothers, but he heard Sherlock whimper. He smiled at the thought of two of them - any two of them - inside Sherlock at once.

His train of thought was derailed as Mycroft walked up to the head of the table and gave him a slow, filthy kiss. "Are you ready, John?"

"Yes, sir."

He produced the large toy and held it so John could see it.

John's jaw still ached from having it forced into his mouth. The sight of it, and the thought of it occupying his arse, made his mouth water.

"What do you want me to do with this, John?"

Every low-pitched word out of Mycroft's mouth made him more aroused. He was glad for the cock ring. "I want you to shove that monstrosity in my arse, sir. Make me take every inch of it and have me begging for more. Have me begging for both your cocks at once."

Sherlock started taking deep breaths in an effort to control himself. Greg's fingers gripped the chair next to him so tightly they were white.

Mycroft decided it was time to stop making people suffer, and start making people… well, suffer, but in a different way. "I don't think John's wet enough yet, Sherlock. Get that barbed tongue of yours over here and do something useful with it for a change."

Sherlock hurried to Mycroft's side and dropped to his knees in front of John. He didn't even need to spread John's legs - the table did it for him. Grabbing John's thighs for leverage, he eagerly went to work on John's puckered hole.

"Mm, Sherlock. I do like to see you showing some enthusiasm. Gregory, join me over here." He turned all of his attention to Greg, letting Sherlock prepare John.

Greg had been almost achingly aroused for a while but knew better than to try and relieve his frustration without Mycroft's permission. And now, it seemed he had it. He crossed the room to join his lover.

Mycroft pulled him closer using the ring on his collar as leverage. "You…" - Mycroft reached beneath Greg's dressing gown and palmed his erection roughly - "have been distractingly gorgeous all evening. And you've been very, _very_ good." He didn't so much kiss Greg, at that moment, as claim him. Greg happily gave himself freely and succumbed to the fierce, passionate kiss. It seemed all-consuming, and the world narrowed down to just the two of them for a while. It eventually slaked Mycroft's hunger somewhat, and he started nuzzling Greg's neck and nipping small bites along his jaw. He nibbled gently on Greg's ear before he whispered into it, "Never, ever forget what you mean to me, my love. You're everything."

Greg pulled back so he could see Mycroft's face. "You too, My. Thank you." They shared another, softer kiss then. When Mycroft finally pulled back, Greg glanced at Mycroft's groin and then back up at him. "May I?"

Mycroft glanced over at Sherlock and John - they both seemed to be enjoying themselves, but not _too_ much. "Mm, please do. Not for long, though."

Greg gave him a cheeky smile. "I'll take what I can get, sir," he said, as he dropped to his knees and untied Mycroft's dressing gown.

Mycroft groaned as Greg's wet, talented mouth closed around the head of his cock. _Oh, God. I should just let him finish me. That feels so good…_ Another part of his mind fired back, _And just how are you going to push John's limits if you're lounging around in a post-orgasmic haze? Hm?_ And then, a vague thought flitted through the back of his mind, even as Greg's tongue slowly eradicated it and all of its neurological siblings: _Good Lord, choreographing orgies is more complex than running the British government._

It wasn't until Mycroft saw Sherlock sit back on his heels and rub his jaw that he realised he should probably take control again. He pulled his lover up to him and kissed him, slowly. "That was incredible. Thank you, love. You may sit in the chair and pleasure yourself, if you wish, but I suspect we'll be needing you to participate as well, so I don't want you to come unless I allow it."

Greg smiled, thrilled at the indulgence. "Thank you, sir," he said, softly. He sat in one of the wing-backed chairs, curled his legs beneath him, and relaxed. Enveloped in his warm, soft dressing gown, he leaned his head against one of the padded wings of the chair, and watched.


	12. Not What I Expected: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John becomes more intimately acquainted with one of Mycroft's toys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John)  
> Thanks to Deklava for the beta!
> 
> Warning: mentions sibling incest.

John writhed in pleasure on the examination table and then let out a quick, involuntary whine when Sherlock stopped tonguing him.

Sherlock gave Mycroft a satisfied smirk. _I think he might be wet enough now, My._

 _Mm, little brother. I see you've done your job admirably._ "Well, John, how did Sherlock do? Did he warm you up a bit for me?"

"Mmnnngghgh." He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. "Sir."

"Your manners are impeccable, John, even if your vocabulary is slightly limited at present. I trust you still remember your safeword?"

With Sherlock's tongue no longer driving him out of his mind, his language centres returned. "Yes, sir. 'Stop.'"

"Good. This is going to be difficult - you've guaranteed that by requesting that I not prepare you first. I expect you to tell me if you need me to slow down. Remember, getting this inside you isn't the only point of the exercise."

John shuddered involuntarily as he remembered the other point of the exercise - namely, to have both brothers fucking him at once.

Mycroft motioned to Sherlock. _Sherlock, please get me two of the lubricant syringes from the cabinet._

Sherlock returned carrying two plastic blunt-tipped syringes, both pre-filled with lube.

"Alright John, I'm not going to stretch you first, but we are going to do this properly. Do you know what these are?" He held them up so John could see them.

John nodded.

Mycroft slid the first one into John's arse and pressed down on the plunger, pushing the cool lubricant deep inside.

John closed his eyes. The sensation was actually calming and quite pleasant. He felt Mycroft do the same with the second syringe. Then, he heard the lube cap click open - Mycroft was preparing the toy. His mind started to race. _Fucking hell. That thing is going in my arse. There's no way it's going to fit, but if it doesn't fit I can't take them both. Breathe. Breathe… Breathe. I can take this._ He willed himself to calm down.

Mycroft bent down to get a better look at John. He rubbed his finger slowly around John's hole, still glistening from Sherlock's saliva and traces of the lube he had just put inside him. "Look at you, all open and eager. All spread out and ready for me. It makes me want to fuck you right now, John. But I won't. I'll wait until my brother can join me inside that tight arse of yours, and we can both fuck you senseless at the same time. That's what you want, isn't it, John?"

John let out an indecently loud moan, and Sherlock's throat went dry at the words.

Greg just smiled to himself and ran his hand firmly over his leaking cock.

Mycroft ran the back of his fingers against John's inner thigh - it was at a right angle to the other thigh, thanks to the stirrups. His voice was smooth and deceptively soft. "Are you sure you don't want restraints, John? It would be easier…" He laid his hand on John's still-hard cock and John bucked against it involuntarily, proving Mycroft's point.

"I don't want it easier, sir." John heard traces of strain in his voice. _We haven't started yet. Breathe._

Mycroft stood up and beamed at him. "Of course you don't, John. That's what I like about you. Well, let's get started then, shall we?"

"Yes… sir." _Breathe._

Mycroft braced himself against John's right leg and the supporting knee stirrup. This was actually going to take some work - some force. It wasn't something he could just slide into him. He placed the head of the huge toy at John's entrance. It was almost comically huge. He would have said 'impossibly huge,' except he knew that it wasn't. He'd used it on himself. The stretch of it was intense, but manageable.

He slowly applied force, pushing it lightly against John's hole. "Deep breath, John."

As John slowly released the breath, he could feel the huge toy pressing against him - the very tip of it pressing into him.

Mycroft's voice was still as smooth as silk. It was obscene. "You've never taken anything this big before, have you, John? You should see yourself, opening up like this. You're going to get this whole thing inside you. You're gorgeous, all spread out and wet," He pushed a little further, and gave John time to adjust to the new pressure. "You're doing so well, John. Sherlock, do you see? See what he's doing for you? For us?"

John let Mycroft's voice soothe him, even as his words fuelled the fire in his gut.

Mycroft remembered the first time he'd used it on himself. It was before he'd met Gregory, before _this_. He'd bought it almost on a lark - he'd never expected it to _fit_. He just wanted something to push against - to be able to feel the delicious sensation of being stretched open. The first few times he'd used it, that was exactly what had happened. Then, to his utter amazement, the head of it had slipped in, and the overwhelming sensation of it had made him come, immediately. He realised he wanted John to be able to feel the same thing. It might not make him orgasm immediately, but he didn't want to deny John - not after this.

 _Sherlock._ No response. His brother was transfixed, gazing at the sight of John's arse swallowing up the massive toy. _Sherlock, I need you to help me with something._

Sherlock shook his head to clear it. _Of course, My. Sorry. What is it?_

 _I'd like you to untie the rope between John's collar and the cock ring._ Mycroft had already removed the belt and the thigh cuffs earlier, when they'd decided to take things in this direction, but the length of rope still attached his cock to his collar, and Mycroft didn't want the metal cock ring dangling from John's neck once it was removed.

Sherlock moved up to John. His eyes were screwed shut in concentration. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to startle him. _Mycroft, warn him, please._

"John, Sherlock is going to remove the rope from your collar. Do you understand?"

John nodded.

Sherlock deftly untied the rope. He whispered in John's ear, using the same deep, filthy tones his brother was using. "You look amazing, John. You're doing so well - you almost have the head of it in there. I can't wait to see Mycroft fuck you with it - open you up enough so you can take both of us." Sherlock had to shut up. He was going to make himself come if he didn't.

"Alright John, now he's going to remove the cock ring. Do _try_ not to come, though it's all the same to me if you do. I don't intend to stop working this into you until you call safeword or until you're ready for both of us.

John's body stiffened as Sherlock carefully slid out the pin holding the metal cock ring closed. As Sherlock opened it and pulled it from the base of his cock, it was all he could do not to push up into Sherlock's hand. _Breathe._

Sherlock kissed him in an effort to distract John's attention from his genitals. It apparently helped, because John relaxed back onto the table and wasn't coming all over his hand. "How are you doing, John?"

"Good." It was less of a word, and more of a ragged, breathy sound. "Big…"

"Mm. Imagine how it's going to feel with two real cocks inside of you, stuffed so full…"

John groaned, and Mycroft took the opportunity to push again. "You're so close now, John. The head has almost breached you. How does it feel?"

"So tight…"

Sherlock, who was stroking John's forehead, looked sheepish. "John, I want to watch. I want to see you take it. Do you care if I watch?"

John managed a slight smile. "Of course not. I want you to tell me what it looks like, later."

Sherlock eagerly repositioned himself on his knees next to Mycroft.

"Is there any pain, John?" He certainly didn't look like he was in pain, but Mycroft wanted to make sure.

"No, none. Do it, Mycroft. All of it. I'm ready." He took in a deep breath, and as he let it out, Mycroft pushed the huge toy firmly inside him.

John felt a brief stab of _too much_ as the head of the toy finally breached him.

Mycroft stopped pushing to let John adjust for a second. He placed his other hand soothingly on the outside of John's thigh. "Are you alright?"

"Yes… oh, fucking hell. It's all the way in, isn't it? The head of it, I mean."

"Yes, John." Mycroft couldn't help but smile. "And bloody hell, it looks amazing." Sherlock and Greg both murmured in agreement. "What do you think, ready for some more?" His voice dropped even lower. "Are you ready for me to _fuck_ you with it?"

John didn't know why he had such a kink for Mycroft voicing obscenities. "Oh, fuck, yes."

Mycroft smeared even more lube on the toy and slowly pushed it in deeper. "Can you feel that, John? Feel it opening you up?"

He nodded. He could - it felt amazing. The sensation was almost impossible to describe. It was almost like sucking an impossibly huge cock, but without the jaw ache and the breathing issues. It was just stretching and _good._

"Oh, John. I wish you could see yourself. It's all the way in there, stretching you so wide. Of course, it's not going to do much good as preparation for us unless I use it to loosen you up a bit. Would you like that, John?"

 _Of course I'd fucking like that._ "Goddammit, Mycroft, just fuck the hell out of me already, would you?"

Mycroft laughed. "I wondered how long it would take you to beg." He pulled the toy almost all the way out and shoved it back in. The force of the thrust moved John backwards on the table, despite the stirrups. "Sherlock, brace his shoulders. Gregory, do what you like with his cock, but don't let him come until I say. Grip him at the base if you need to. John, you're going to take this for as long as you possibly can. When you can't take any more, beg. Beg me to let you come with this huge toy buried in your arse."

And with that, they commenced a full frontal assault on John Watson's sensory inputs.

Sherlock braced his shoulders, but that also gave him access to John's mouth and neck. He started subjecting him to hard kisses, bites along his jaw, and lovely sucked bruises on the areas just above his collar.

Greg had been dying to get involved for a while. He milked John's aching cock with one hand and scraped his fingernails roughly across John's flank with the other. Then, giving John a cheeky smile (which John completely missed because Sherlock was sucking on his neck), he swallowed him down to the root. John didn't miss that. He bucked off the table and further into Greg's mouth, which prompted Mycroft to push him back down and give him another hard thrust with the toy.

 _That toy. Motherfuckinghell._ Mycroft was pounding him with it relentlessly, and it was glorious. It was so huge that every thrust of the thing hit his prostate, sending another jolt of fire up his spine, where it joined the other sensations Greg and Sherlock were contributing to the happy occasion.

Greg was back to stroking him now, keeping a close watch on John for signs of an impending orgasm.

John's mind gave up and let the feelings flow without trying to process them. _Suck, thrust, stroke, bite, thrust, fingernails, thrust, nipples, oh bloody hell I'm going to come._ Greg clamped down on the base of his cock and John let out a low scream of frustration and his entire body _trembled_ with need. _I'm not going to beg. Not yet._

"Are you ready to beg yet? I don't think you are. You love the three of us undoing you like this - taking you apart, layer by layer, until there's nothing left but raw nerves, screaming for release."

 _He's right, the fucking brilliant bastard. I love this._ John almost shouted with frustration and need. "Hngghh… Fucking hell! Goddammit, Mycroft, _harder…_ More! I can take it!"

Mycroft had no doubt of that, but he wasn't sure how much harder he could actually go. It was clear John wasn't going to have much of a problem accommodating the two of them. _Fuck, at this point he could probably take all three of us if it wasn't such a logistical nightmare._ He rammed the toy almost brutally into him, fucking him into the table until his arm ached. "I want to hear you beg, John. Beg us for release."

It was the smallest thing that put him over the edge. For all the screaming nerves and overwhelming sensations, one simple act cut through the noise like a beacon of light in the darkness. It wasn't Greg's hand on his cock, or even the massive toy in his arse. It was Sherlock, pinching his nipples - hard. The pain - _no, not pain - intensity_ \- of it was too much. He felt his body flying towards one hell of an orgasm. "Please, let me come! I need to…"

Mycroft nodded at Greg, giving his consent. "Come for us, John."

The tension in his gut released violently and washed over him like a rushing wave. He shuddered and his back arched as it ripped through him. "Ngghhhhh…" It was more like a low-pitched scream than a groan. He gritted his teeth as the aftershocks rippled through him. "Bloody fucking hell." He was lying on the table now, panting. Everyone stood around him, looking almost as exhausted as he was. Even Mycroft looked dishevelled.

Mycroft went to take out the toy, but John stopped him.

"No, don't. I need to recuperate a bit, but leave it in. I want to stay nice and open for both of you."

Mycroft smiled. "I certainly have no objection. Let's move to the bed, shall we? It's much more comfortable."

John climbed tentatively off the table, holding the toy in place.

They all migrated to the large bed on the other side of the room. Sherlock helped John up onto the bed, and he gratefully slumped back against the large down pillows. "Bloody hell. I can honestly say that was one of the more intense things I've ever done."

Mycroft smirked, just a little. "Would you say it pushed your limits, John?" John threw a decorative pillow at him, and Mycroft broke into an outright laugh. "I suppose that's a yes?"

"You know damned well it is." John was laughing, too. It was a nice break from the intensity of the previous events. On the bed, they'd unconsciously gravitated towards their primary partners. John rested against Sherlock, who had curled his arm around him protectively. Greg and Mycroft leaned comfortably against each other.

They all sat there in silence for a while, until Greg spoke. "God, I'm hungry."

Mycroft replied, "We need a butler. We never have this problem at the Diogenes." It was clear he was joking, but Sherlock called him a snob anyway. "Requests?"

"Biscuits."

"Cheese and biscuits."

"Chocolate biscuits. And tea."

"Well, at least there's a trend. I'll see what we have." Mycroft crawled off the bed and headed for the kitchen.

He came back bearing a tray with a remarkable assortment of biscuits, some cheese, and the ubiquitous pot of tea.

"Do you even buy real food, Mycroft?"

"Oi, I do the shopping, Sherlock. And yes, I buy more than biscuits. And before you say anything, they're more for me than they are for Mycroft."

_Don't get too mouthy, Sherlock. You are still wearing your collar, after all. I'd hate to have to withhold sex as punishment._

"Sorry, Greg."

Greg and John stared at Sherlock like he'd just grown a third arm. Mycroft just smiled, and Sherlock looked sheepish.

"Oh, right. I didn't think you two were going to do that while we were around. You know what? I don't mind if it keeps you from being a prat, Sherlock." Greg smiled at both of them. He didn't really care at all. It just got confusing, sometimes.

"Yeah, I don't care either. I just wish I could hear what he's thinking as well. It would make living with him a hell of a lot easier."

"They've been working on technologies to replicate the effect in…" Mycroft didn't say 'normal people,' but that was what everyone heard. "Um, everyone. But it hasn't really worked out very well. Most of the test subjects started to go insane, and the projects were terminated."

Greg tried to suppress a laugh and failed. "Well, there's the problem. You two aren't normal. And it could be argued that you're already insane."

They continued to munch on the biscuits and drink tea. John, even with the huge toy in his arse (or perhaps because of it), was waxing philosophical. "I wonder why biscuits are so good after sex? During. Whatever. They should have a 'post-coital' aisle in Tesco's."

"Mm." Mycroft chimed in, "Right next to the lubricant that only the vanilla straight couples buy. I've always wondered why people are so intimidated by sex shops. Perhaps they should sell biscuits in sex shops - next to the good lubricant. I'm sure that's an untapped market."

"If you ever get sacked from the government, love, I'm sure you'll have a brilliant career in advertising."

"If I ever got sacked, I'd have to channel all my dominant tendencies into more sex. You'd probably have to stay home full-time, Gregory. Perhaps all three of you." He shot them all a wicked grin.

"Speaking of which, we _have_ finished with the biscuits, and I do still have this bloody huge toy up my arse. Perhaps you'd all like to get on with fucking me senseless?"


	13. Not What I Expected: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets what he wanted. And so does everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John)  
> Many thanks to Deklava for the beta!
> 
> Warning: sibling incest

Everyone looked expectantly at Mycroft, who immediately started clearing away the tea tray. "John, remain where you are for the moment. Sherlock, I want you on your back in the centre of the bed. Gregory, please remove the pillows and kneel, up by the headboard."

Greg raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Mycroft placed the tray on a side table and brought back some towels and more lubricant.

Sherlock was already lying on his back, watching John and Mycroft expectantly. Greg was kneeling at Sherlock's head, resisting the urge to bounce his cock on Sherlock's forehead. (It didn't seem like it would be in good taste, although just the thought of it made him smirk.)

John was propped up against the headboard, the toy still inside him.

Mycroft climbed back onto the bed. He straddled John and pulled him closer using the ring on his collar. "You're sure you still want this, John?" He seemed pretty damned sure, but it was never too late to lose your nerve.

"Yes, sir."

For all his apparent control of the situation, Mycroft's voice seemed slightly ragged. "Good, because I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this. Now, let's get that monstrosity out of your arse, shall we? Turn over onto your knees, slowly." Mycroft palmed the end of the toy as John moved. "Alright. I'm going to remove it."

John didn't even need to apply any pressure. The toy just slid out - a slick moulded lump of silicone. He could feel every undulation of it as it pushed past his tender prostate. The toy's absence left him feeling almost hollow, but he quickly felt Mycroft's fingers filling the empty space.

"God, John. I wish you could see this. Christ…" Mycroft seemed at a loss for words. His dominant persona was gone, stripped away by wonder and sheer awe. "Four fingers, John. They just slid right in. Good God."

Sherlock and Greg were equally transfixed.

John broke the mood. "Could you all please stop staring at my arse and start fucking it instead?"

Mycroft almost visibly snapped back into Dom mode. Pulling on the back of John's collar, he whispered, "I'll do what I please with your arse, John." He nipped him on the ear and rubbed his fingers over John's prostate before removing them; John moaned in approval. Mycroft tossed Sherlock the lubricant. "Don't skimp."

Sherlock slicked himself up. He was already rampantly hard - he suspected just the idea of it would be enough to get him off if he concentrated hard enough. He handed the tube back to his brother.

"Greg, I want you to be my eyes. I expect John to tell me how things are going, but you'll be able to see his face. If things go well enough, then with any luck John will need something to occupy his mouth, but we'll see how that goes once we get there."

_But I'll be able to see him as well…_

_Don't argue, Sherlock. I have my reasons. Now is not the time._

Mycroft was extremely aware of how much he'd need to monitor John's well-being during the scene - he could get hurt if anyone got overly enthusiastic, no matter how well he'd taken the toy. He'd placed Sherlock on the bottom deliberately - once they were both inside John, Sherlock's range of motion would be limited in that position. He trusted his own self-control more than he trusted his brother's. It wasn't optimal, because he wouldn't be able to see John's face, but he trusted Greg to tell him what he saw.

Mycroft mentally placed the logistics to the side. _John. What does he need from this? Domination. Limit pushing. Certainly not metaphoric hand-holding. Right._ He was still behind John, who was still kneeling facing the headboard. Mycroft pulled harder on his collar, just enough to cut off his air supply a little. "I can't wait to fill your arse, John. It's not going to be like the toy - not some piece of rubber, John. It's going to be two hot, pulsating cocks filling your tight hole - fucking you until you can't take any more, sliding against each other as they force you open as wide as you can stand it. It's going to be me and Sherlock, John. Both inside you at the same time."

Mycroft released the pressure on his collar, and John sucked in a lungful of air.

John wasn't sure if it was the mild breath play or Mycroft's words that were making him weak - given his raging erection, he decided it was the latter.

Mycroft climbed backwards off the bed and pulled John to him, once again using the collar as leverage. With John standing in front of him, he wrapped an arm firmly around John's chest, and roughly palmed John's erection with the other hand. "Tell me you want this, John. Convince me."

"Please, sir. I want you both. Sherlock is my partner and you're my Dom. I want both of you inside me."

A surge of affection rushed through Mycroft, and he smiled. He spun John around so he faced him. "You're right, John. I'm your Dom. You've already earned that collar, and now I'm going to mark you as my own. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"God, yes."

"Good. Get on the bed and straddle Sherlock's waist, kneeling."

John hurried to comply. Sherlock stared up at him and smiled. His mouth opened in an 'oh' as John brushed against his erection.

Mycroft got back onto the bed and knelt between Sherlock's legs. He grabbed his brother's erection with one hand, John's waist with the other, and pulled him backwards. John was still so open, he didn't need any warning, let alone preparation. Mycroft shoved him onto Sherlock's cock, hard.

"Oh fuck… yes…" John shuddered with pleasure. Sherlock just looked at him in amazement.

"Fuck him, Sherlock. I want you to feel how open he is for us. Because soon he's going to be so full…"

Sherlock didn't need further prompting, and he began to thrust up into his lover. John balanced on his knees, letting Sherlock do the work. "God, John. This feels so… different."

Mycroft laughed. "There's going to be a lot of 'different' in a minute." He pushed John forward onto Sherlock's chest. Sherlock kept fucking him, hard and fast.

John's face was suddenly right over Sherlock's, and he felt Mycroft's hand on his back.

_Sherlock, stop._

John felt his lover stop fucking him, suddenly - as if on command. _Right._ Mycroft's lubed fingers were at his stretched hole then, slowly pushing their way in around Sherlock's cock. It was just one at first, and it slipped right in, but the second took more effort. As Mycroft started to add a third, he felt a stab of pain.

"My…" Greg had seen the sudden movement of John's eyebrows - the pain.

 _Greg._ He'd forgotten Greg was even there. He looked up at Greg, who rubbed his hand over John's hair affectionately and smiled.

Mycroft had gently removed the third finger and was adding more lubricant. He lightly massaged the tightly stretched skin of John's arse before he continued. This time, the third finger went in without a problem. "God, John. I wish you could see this - Sherlock's prick and my fingers. You're so stretched open. I think it's time for me to fuck you now."

"Yes…"

Mycroft pulled his fingers out, watching John's arsehole slowly flutter closed around Sherlock. _Not for long._ He placed the blunt head of his cock against John's hole and his brother's erection. He braced himself with one hand on John's waist and used the other to keep his cock from slipping off across John's arse cheek. There was lube everywhere. He glanced at Greg, who was watching John intently. He took a deep breath, and started to push. There wasn't as much resistance as he'd feared. The head of it slipped in with a 'pop,' and John let out a small exclamation. "Alright?"

"Yes. Fuck. Tight. Feels good though…" It was different from the toy - it was like Mycroft had said - hot, pulsating. There was a 'give' to flesh that toys could never replicate. The stretch was intense, but it was delicious, heady, and somewhat surprisingly, not painful.

Mycroft was astonished by the unexpected feel of it - the soft, hot silkiness of John's arse wrapped around one side of him, while the other side was pressed up against his brother's firm, smooth erection. It was entirely different to anything he'd previously experienced.

"Okay, more."

Mycroft took another deep breath and pushed forward a little. "Still alright?"

"Yes. All of you, please…"

It was all Mycroft could do not to force himself inside John in one, hard thrust, but he resisted the urge. Slowly, almost torturously so, he pushed into him. The long, slick slide of it made his head spin. By the time his hips were pressed against John's, they were both panting. _Fuck. We actually did it. We're both inside him._ "John, fuck. You okay?"

"Oh, fuck. Yes. Fuck. Can't believe… fuck."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes. You both feel lovely." John gave him an odd look, and Sherlock shrugged. "S'true."

"Okay, I'm good. Move."

Mycroft smiled. He was happy to have John directing this. He didn't want to assume anything. He glanced at Greg, who gave him an 'I'm fine' sort of grin. Slowly, he started to pull back out. Sherlock moved too, and John let out a peculiar sort of moan. Both brothers immediately stopped.

"Keep going, goddammit!"

Mycroft pulled out until just the head of his cock was inside and then tentatively pushed back in. He got a loud groan of encouragement from John in response.

"Oh God. This… oh… faster! I'm not going to fucking break…"

Mycroft stopped worrying quite as much, and found his tongue. "Why John, you are quite the little cock slut aren't you? I never imagined you'd be so good at this - taking us both without so much as blinking. You should see this. God. Your hole is stretched so tight, and our cocks just disappear into you. It's amazing." He'd started out trying to be filthy, but he'd ended up in awe. Again.

Mycroft increased his pace, and Sherlock thrust up into John in short, quick pushes that made John gasp.

"More…"

"More what, John?"

"Greg."

Mycroft nodded his approval to Greg. They were past the point where he needed to monitor John's reactions. "Greedy, aren't you? Two of us not enough for you? I'm sure Greg will be happy to shove his thick cock in your mouth."

Greg had already shuffled forward, amused to realise his balls would be hanging right over Sherlock's face. _That'll teach Sherlock to be so nonchalant about this._ He grabbed John's hair and pulled his head up so his mouth was easily accessible.

John licked his lips just before Greg pushed the thick head of his cock into his mouth. It was an awkward position, but he'd still be able to work the head of it. With any luck, he have Greg coming down his throat in no time.

"Sherlock, don't be so lazy. Give Gregory some attention."

Sherlock shot him a glance. _My…_

"Suck on his balls, Sherlock. Don't make me tell you again."

Sherlock's tongue snaked out to lick Greg's sac, and he craned his neck so he could get one of them in his mouth.

Greg gasped as Sherlock's hot mouth enveloped him. This was a first - to have this done while getting sucked off - and it was exquisite. Sherlock's tongue was playing with his balls, and John's tongue was flicking over his fraenulum as it circled the head of his cock. At this point, he wasn't going to last long at all. He noticed Sherlock and Mycroft had slowed their pace almost to stopping - it made sense - there were only so many things John and Sherlock could concentrate on at once. Determined not to let the pleasurable interlude disrupt John's pounding for too long, he fisted his shaft and helped. It wasn't long before he felt his balls tighten against his body and his orgasm uncoil in his gut. Thick streams of semen coated the back of John's throat, and he held John's head there until the aftershocks had passed and John had swallowed his load. He pulled back, out of John and Sherlock's mouths, and braced himself on the headboard as he shifted position and caught his breath.

"John, thank Gregory."

John was still catching his breath. "Thank you, Greg. Was good…"

Greg chuckled. "Really, anytime."

Mycroft thrust back into John, hard.

John's mind snapped sharply back into focus and he let out a loud moan - his full attention once again on his arse.

John, in relative terms, was loose and ready for a good pounding, and Mycroft was determined to give him one. "C'mon Sherlock, you're letting me do all the work." He couldn't resist - it would spur Sherlock into fucking John harder, and that was the point, after all. Sherlock took Mycroft's jibe to heart and resumed his thrusts up into John as hard as he could with his limited range of motion.

Sherlock and Mycroft quickly got out of sync and realised that it felt even better - the slide against each other just added to the sensation of John's arse squeezing them tightly together.

Sherlock smiled up at John. "I can't believe how this feels, John. It's incredible."

"It looks incredible, too. Christ. Do you know how deliciously filthy you look - the two of us pounding you like this? God, John, you were made for this. Your tight hole is just swallowing us up."

"Want to see. Please." His words were ragged and he was panting.

Greg scrambled off the bed to get his mobile. He'd watched enough porn in his time to have a vague idea of where to hold the camera. He took a couple pictures, then remembered that his phone was supposed to be able to do video as well. Fumbling with the controls, he prayed he'd be able to figure it out in time.

"Gregory's taking care of it. Do you want it harder, John?"

"Yes…" _God, it feels amazing. The stretch, the movement of them against each other. It's just so… different._ His cock was wet from the excitement, and each thrust pushed it across Sherlock's smooth stomach.

Greg, mercifully, had finally figured out where the video controls were, and crawled into position to document the occasion.

The room was was filled with the sounds of skin on skin and low groans. John's body was covered in a sheen of sweat and his brain was on overload as the brothers used his arse mercilessly.

_Sherlock, how close are you?_

_Damned close. You?_

_Same. Fuck him with your hand._

Sherlock slid his hand between their bodies, and John groaned as his lover's fingers found his cock.

"Oh God, yes… fuck, Sherlock, yes…"

The two brothers slammed into him, the bed shaking beneath them. Sherlock was the first to cave. "Ngghh.. John…"

John felt Sherlock's warm release as Sherlock gasped his way through the orgasm; then Sherlock's hand wrenched his own orgasm from him, and he let out a low scream at the intensity of it.

The whole debauched sight of it sent Mycroft over the edge, and he made one final, deep shove as he spent deep inside John. His semen mingled with his brother's and dribbled out of John's stretched hole as his cock softened.

Everyone sort of collapsed into a heap on top of each other. Mycroft was the first one to try and move, and as he pulled his oversensitive cock from John's arse, John squeaked.

"You okay?" He flopped onto his side, next to his brother.

"Yeah. Just sensitive."

John rolled off Sherlock to the other side and sunk into the duvet with a moan.

Sherlock just laid there with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Greg shifted across the bed to be with Mycroft. "John, do you remember saying you wanted to see?"

"Mm. Why?"

"I got video." Greg was beaming. "That'll be something new to add to your porn collection."

"Mm. Good. Want to see that later."

"You alright, John?" Mycroft felt like he should do more, but John was already curled up in Sherlock's arms and he looked happy.

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Mycroft."

Greg was the only one not being rapidly overtaken by the post-orgasmic rush of hormones. He grinned and looked at his three exhausted lovers before stretching himself out next to Mycroft. Mycroft wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, already foggy.

"What about you, love?"

"I'm good, too." He marvelled, just for a bit, that they were able to make _this_ \- just all of this in general - work. _But we are._

The rest of them were already beyond thought.


	14. The Dangers of Dating a Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and John have a night out at the pub, while Sherlock and Mycroft have a night in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a birthday fic for the wonderful and lovely **[{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ibegtodreamanddiffer)**. (You should go and read her fabulous stories!!)
> 
> Happy birthday!!
> 
> Pairings: Mycroft/Greg/Sherlock/John and permutations
> 
> **Warnings** : sibling incest

"So, I'm off down the pub to meet Greg then. Are you sure you won't come?"

"Quite." Sherlock gave John a tight smile. "You know how I feel about pubs."

"Suit yourself. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Have fun."

John smiled at him as he left. They'd long since gotten over arguing about this. John had finally realised it wasn't a personal insult, and Sherlock had been able to avoid the throngs of beer-soaked locals. He'd gone with John once or twice, but after 'deducing' a few of the patrons a little too loudly, they'd both decided it was better if he stayed home. Even _he_ knew it was bad form - insulting the idiots - but it had gotten him out of going, and John had been free to have a pint with Greg every now and then. And he'd been free to have a few evenings alone. Well. _Not_ alone, exactly.

The first time, it hadn't been his fault. Well, not really. Mycroft had stopped by on some feeble premise, and a few quick questions had determined Mycroft was bored. Greg was at the pub and wouldn't be home for a couple hours. It hadn't been Mycroft's fault, either - he hadn't stopped by for a quick fuck, he'd just wanted the company.

Equally bored, Sherlock had crawled into his brother's lap, straddled his thighs, and whispered obscene ideas into his ear until his brother had bent him over the back of the chair and fucked him senseless until he screamed. Mycroft, showing his usual restraint, merely let out a small moan when he came. When Mrs Hudson had later admonished Sherlock, "Why can't you be more like your brother?" it hadn't taken the brilliant consulting detective much brainpower to figure out why.

The four of them had been in an open relationship for over a year now. Both Greg and John knew that Mycroft and Sherlock fucked each other on a regular basis without them there, but neither of them suspected it happened on 'pub night'. After a few pints and a couple rounds of darts, they both went home to their remarkably calm, relaxed partners and spent a quiet evening in front of the telly. (Or, as was more normally the case, John and Greg watched the telly and their partners would be engrossed in their books, experiments or what have you.)

And so, five minutes after John left, Mycroft knocked on the door.

"Come in… you don't have to knock. I'm expecting you, you know."

"That wouldn't be very polite now, would it?"

Sherlock was wearing his dressing gown and silk pyjamas - he had been all day. He saw no point in getting dressed unless he was actually leaving the flat.

Mycroft… well, Mycroft wasn't wearing his usual suit. Sherlock had sent him a one-word text earlier in the day.

_Punk._

"My eyes are up here, Sherlock. Perhaps I shouldn't have indulged you with my attire."

Sherlock's eyes were moving all over his brother's softly spiked hair, leather collar, tight t-shirt and even-tighter jeans. They kept lingering on his crotch. Mycroft's jeans were getting tighter by the second.

Sherlock leapt from his chair and raced over to his brother. "Thank you." After a brief kiss, he fell to his knees and started to work on Mycroft's jeans.

"Not even going to offer me a cup of tea?"

Sherlock growled a non-response as he struggled to undo the zip.

Mycroft grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled him roughly to his feet. It was exceedingly obvious what today's dynamic was going to be, and Mycroft was more than happy to indulge him in _that._

"Strip, then make me tea."

Sherlock paused for a heartbeat, not wanting to accept humiliation as part of the terms for his willing submission.

Mycroft released him and turned to leave, buttoning his jeans as he did so.

"No, wait! I'm sorry." Sherlock shed his dressing gown, and was already removing his pyjamas. "Please don't go. I'll do anything…"

Mycroft raised one eyebrow. "You already do."

A blush rose on Sherlock's pale cheeks and he went into the kitchen, naked and hard, to make tea.

Mycroft settled himself into Sherlock's chair and waited.

Sherlock returned with a bone china mug of fresh tea - milk, no sugar.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Kneel. Hands behind your back."

Sherlock knelt in front of him as Mycroft sipped his tea. The submissive posture and the promise (or at least, hope) of things to come, had him ragingly hard.

"How's John?"

"Fine. Greg?"

"Mm. Fine. I'm sure they're comparing notes as we speak."

"I'm sure they are."

Sherlock feigned boredom, but his erection told a different story.

Mycroft gave him a knowing smile. "You've been waiting all week for this, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, of course I have." He knew the correct answer was "Yes, sir," but he was hoping for a little punishment. He knew his earlier pause had already put him on that path.

Mycroft carefully placed his tea on the table. Then, with a speed and strength that always shocked his brother, he grabbed Sherlock's wrists and pulled him over his jeans-clad knees. Before Sherlock could say anything, Mycroft's hand came down with a sharp 'crack' on his arse.

Sherlock moaned, provoking another slap. He squirmed against Mycroft, stimulating his cock, which was trapped between his body and his brother's thigh. Another slap, harder this time.

"None of that. This is supposed to be punishment. I know you enjoy it, but you don't have to make it so _obvious_ , brother-mine _._ "

Sherlock smiled. _You know you love it too, My._

_I never said I didn't._

Another flurry of blows landed on Sherlock's arse, leaving a healthy pink glow on his alabaster skin.

They both froze as they heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets.

"Fuck. He only just left. Did you set this up?" Sherlock hissed at his brother.

"No, although I must say, I wish I'd thought of it." Mycroft sounded more amused than chastened.

The door opened and John walked in, Greg following on his heels.

He hung up his coat by the door, not seeing them until he turned around. "Sherlock, the pub was too crowded - thought we'd have a beer… oh." He stopped, pursed his lips for a second, then raised his eyebrows in a resigned sort of look. He gave them both a genuine grin. "Mycroft. Pleasure to see you. I hope we aren't interrupting…"

Greg, a salacious smirk on his face, looked at Mycroft. "I see you enjoy that outfit even more than you've been letting on. It looks like Sherlock does too." His eyebrows did that _thing_ that always made Mycroft melt.

"What can I say, Gregory? You have impeccable taste."

Sherlock, still over Mycroft's knee, just smiled at John and shrugged. "You can't possibly be surprised…"

John shook his head. "Not in the least. It explains why you're so quiet after I get back from the pub, actually."

Greg piped up. "Soooo… should we go and find a less crowded pub or is it okay if we join in?"

_Sherlock?_

_I'm fine with that._

"Please, join us. Sherlock was kind enough to make tea - it's fresh."

John huffed. "I'll bet he did that under duress. Is it treacle? That's how he usually makes it on the rare occasions that he actually does."

"Hey…" Sherlock countered, but he found it difficult to look suitably insulted when he was bent over his brother's knee like a recalcitrant schoolboy.

"No, it's unusually palatable, although it was under duress, yes."

John gave Mycroft a look of pleasant surprise and wandered into the kitchen to get some tea.

Greg gave his lover a cheeky grin. "So, I'm not upset, but you could have invited us. This looks far more interesting than a couple of pints. And, the outfit…" He waved his hand in Mycroft's direction and gave him an incredulous look. "I mean honestly, you know how much I enjoy that. _Have_ enjoyed that. Especially that time I cut a hole in the back of your jeans and fucked you through it.""

John spat his tea out all over the rug.

This time, it was Mycroft's turn to blush. "Well, yes. We probably should have. I'm sorry. We're sorry." He nudged Sherlock, still bent over his knees, in the stomach. "… aren't we, Sherlock?"

"Yes, um, sorry… John. Greg."

Greg peered at Mycroft intently for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm not sure that apology is good enough. What do you think, John?" He grinned in John's direction.

"No… no. Not good enough at all." John shook his head and gave them a closed-lipped smile.

"Both of you, over here, on your knees, hands behind your head."

Sherlock stood up and gave Mycroft an incredulous glance. He smiled at his brother's silent reply: _Don't look at me like that, Sherlock. I'm a switch. At least for Greg._

They both knelt in front of Greg and John - Sherlock still naked and Mycroft fully clothed.

Greg produced some zip-ties from the inside pocket of his coat and swiftly secured their hands behind their backs. "You can never be too careful, John - not with the criminal element these days. Look at these two - this overgrown punk was clearly about to have his little boy-toy help him commit some act of public indecency. They were probably going to deface public property as well. Want to help me teach them some respect?"

"I'd love to."

Greg stood in front of Mycroft. "Help me get the trousers off this one." John steadied Mycroft as Greg removed Mycroft's combat boots and jeans. He wasn't wearing any pants. "Oh yes, he was definitely planning some public indecency. And look, he's just as hard as his friend. I think they're both enjoying this far too much. Didn't you say you had a paddle somewhere?"

"Mm. I have to use it on my roommate when he gets intractable. I'll be right back." John raced up the stairs two at a time and returned moments later with a vicious-looking leather-covered paddle.

Greg eyed it, appraisingly. "Hm. That'll do nicely, thanks. Okay, you two degenerates. Go over there and kneel in front of the sofa - chests on the seat."

The two brothers moved to the front of the leather sofa and knelt on the floor, their arses in the air, and their cocks pressed firmly against the cool leather.

"Closer together."

Mycroft knelt up and inched towards Sherlock, not stopping until his skin touched his brother's. This time, when he put his chest back on the sofa, he made sure he was facing his brother. Their lips were tantalisingly close. He reached out with his tongue and flicked it against his brother's full upper lip.

Sherlock felt a slight movement at his brother's hips and realised he was _very_ subtly rubbing against the seat cushion. _Mycroft, you complete and utter slut. You're dying for this as much as I am!_ He got a mental shrug in return, but Mycroft's hips stopped moving.

"Alright, you two. Lucky for you we've gone back to corporal punishment for indecency infractions."

John chuckled. "They don't look like they mind. In fact, they both look like they're gagging for it."

"Yeah, but they'll be sufficiently contrite soon. Trust me." Greg stood behind Sherlock and Mycroft with the paddle, and without warning, struck the first blow on Mycroft's arse.

Mycroft gasped and his body flinched at the sharp, stinging pain.

Greg, the smile evident in his voice, said, "You didn't expect it to hurt that much, did you?"

"No," Mycroft answered, his voice thick with a mixture of lust and discomfort.

Greg struck Sherlock with the paddle.

He was expecting it, and - determined to outdo his brother - relaxed into the pain and let out a moan. _I'm better at this than you are, Mycroft._

_You say that like I can't take a good beating… augh…_

Greg landed another blow on Mycroft's arse, mid-thought. The unusual silence - from Sherlock, especially - made it highly likely they were carrying on one of their silent conversations. Greg had seen it before. "Oi, you two - shut it, or I'll thrash you so hard you won't be able to think at each other for a week."

_Ha! Serves you right, Mycroft. Ow!_

Mycroft just smiled as the paddle contacted Sherlock's increasingly glowing arse and interrupted his brother's thoughts.

Sherlock relaxed into the beating - the sting of it, the endorphin rush, and the warm glowing pain that enveloped his arse. They weren't communicating, but he could feel Mycroft relaxing into it as well - mentally and physically. He lost track of time a little and let his eyes close as Greg alternated between them, falling into a consistent rhythm. It was almost soothing…

"You're not supposed to be relaxing, Sherlock!"

A particularly harsh blow brought him back to the present and his eyes flew open. Mycroft was looking at him, inches away, with a smirk all over his flushed face.

"John, would you like a go? Clearly I'm not doing it right if Mr I-Can-Fall-Asleep-During-A-Beating is enjoying himself so much. This is the _real_ reason they outlawed police brutality - it doesn't do a damned thing for his type."

Sherlock couldn't hold his tongue. "And what type would _that_ be, you ignorant pig?"

"You'll refer to him as 'Sir', and only if he asks you a question. Got it, you little fucker?" John replied.

Sherlock nodded, as much as his position would allow. A rain of fire landed quickly on his arse. _John must have the paddle now_. John didn't mess around with this sort of thing, and the blows _hurt._

"I said, 'Got it?'"

Another stinging blow hit his arse. "Yes, Sir."

John knew how to give a good beating, and it was a long time since he'd gotten one. It wasn't the same as one of Mycroft's spankings. A series of vicious blows landed on his arse and upper thighs. They hurt like hell as he took them, but once John stopped, the pain fell away into a warm white noise. Sherlock smiled.

"Learned your lesson yet, ingrate?"

"No, sir."

Another round of brutal smacks left tears stinging at his eyes and his cock ragingly hard.

"I think I've finished beating this one, unless you want another go, Greg."

"I'm good."

"Good, because I'd like to fuck that pretty crimson arse of his."

"Not a bad idea, that. I'll take the Sid Vicious clone. He's more my type anyway. He looks like he could use a good fucking. What d'ya think? Want my thick cock up that arse of yours?"

In his best Douglas Richardson voice, Mycroft purred, "Oh… yes, Sir."

Greg giggled and swatted Mycroft on the arse. "You're not very good at this role-playing lark, are you?"

Mycroft shrugged.

John looked surprised, "Oh, I don't know - I thought it was quite good - it was just the wrong role. I didn't peg him for that sort of humour."

"He has a surprising weakness for Cabin Pressure. He once called in all sorts of favours just to get us tickets to a taping - the Ottery St. Mary one. He can get quite obsessive about playing 'Yellow Car'."

"Gregory!"

Sherlock smirked. "Really, Mycroft? You play 'Yellow Car'? You shouldn't let that information get out, brother-mine, it makes you seem almost human."

Greg giggled. "Well, Mycroft, you already shattered whatever hope I had of an acting career; it'd all be outtakes. So, I figure there's no sense in keeping up the role playing, unless the rest of you want to. I'd personally be fine with getting straight to the 'fucking you senseless' portion of the evening. John?"

"Fine by me."

"Do you have a pair of scissors? I want to take off their cuffs."

John handed him a pair from the desk, and Greg made short work of the zip ties.

Sherlock felt thick, strong fingers working the blood back into his wrists and hands. John was crouched over him.

"Did you enjoy your beating, love?" John murmured into his ear as he nibbled around the edge of it.

"God, yes. I won't be able to sit tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet, gorgeous. You should see your arse - it's practically glowing. Greg, can you get the lube? Top drawer in the desk over there."

"Actually John, since they're so keen on having their own little session tonight, perhaps we should let them work each other open before we have our way with them…"

"Mm. I can wait a bit longer. Have a seat. We should at least enjoy the show."

Mycroft gave Sherlock a predatory grin. _You're mine. At least for a little while._ He reached over and dug his fingernails into Sherlock's already-painful rear end.

Sherlock hissed at the sudden renewal of pain. "They said both of us. I get to work on you as well."

"But I'm going first. If you so much as move a muscle, _I'll_ be using that paddle on you as well. No one has left bruises yet. I think I can fix that."

Sherlock cursed under his breath as his body reacted to Mycroft's threat with renewed enthusiasm.

Mycroft was kneeling behind him now, and Sherlock felt his elegant fingers brush lightly over the head of his cock. Not enough to do any good, just enough to tease. His fingers and palm played over the slit, picking up some of the copious fluid.

"Look at what a mess you're making, Sherlock. Clean my hand off."

Mycroft's hand was in front of his face, and he reached out to pull his brother's long fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them slowly, deliberately teasing him.

"The rest of my hand, too."

He licked broad, flat stripes up of Mycroft's palm, thoroughly cleaning him of the salty pre-come.

"Now, clean the sofa."

"What?" Sherlock whirled around, only to face a very serious-looking Mycroft.

"I said… clean the sofa. With your tongue. Or I won't bother opening you up at all, and John will just have to force his way in there. I'm sure he'll manage."

John chimed in, amusement in his voice. "Do it, Sherlock. I quite like that sofa, and I won't have you leaving it in that state. And you won't be getting any preparation from me if you don't. I quite like just shoving right in, but you're usually so god-damned tight I restrain myself. Give me a reason not to, I dare you. I could use a nice, rough fuck."

_Oh, God. So could I._ Sherlock couldn't keep his thoughts to himself - didn't want to, really. He wanted Mycroft to know.

Mycroft heard him, and pulled Sherlock's head back by his hair. "Clean it, then you'll get what you want. And I promise it'll be as rough as you're hoping for." He released his head and Sherlock eagerly shuffled backwards.

His tongue darted out as he cleaned the leather cushions of his pre-ejaculate.

"Mine too."

He shuffled over to clean Mycroft's mess, savouring the salty fluid - so similar to his own, but cold now. As soon as he was done, Mycroft's still-damp palm was between his shoulder-blades, roughly pushing his shoulders to the floor. His head barely missed the bottom of the sofa on the way down. He considered how he must look to the rest of them, with his bright red arse in the air and his stiff cock dangling between his legs. A second later, he felt Mycroft force his damp thumb into his arse. He let out a 'hnnnff' of air at the sudden fullness of it. He heard the snap of the lube cap and without warning, Mycroft's other thumb joined the first. His head spun, and he let out an embarrassingly incoherent noise.

_You wanted it rough, little brother._

_Ngghhh. …_

Mycroft drew in a deep breath at the desperate need and blind lust of his brother's thoughts. He used his thumbs to pry Sherlock open, preparing him for the pounding he would doubtless get from John.

Sherlock moaned with pleasure/pain as he felt himself being forced open. Mycroft's thumbs were still wide apart when he heard his brother spit and felt the hot saliva trickle into his wet, open hole.

_Oh, God My. Oh…_ Just the idea of his brother spitting - let alone spitting into his pried open arse - was just so deliciously filthy…

"John, I think you'll find he's more than ready. He keeps begging me to make it hurt. Tell him, little brother. Tell him what you want."

"Oh please, John. It's so good, rough. Fuck me until I scream. Please…"

Sherlock felt strong hands grab his hair and pull him to his feet.

John eyed his lover greedily for a second before he pulled his hair to one side and sank his teeth into Sherlock's long neck.

"Yesss…"

Mycroft backed out of their way. Greg motioned to the spot next to his chair, and Mycroft knelt obediently beside him.

Greg idly ran his fingers through Mycroft's hair as he sank deeper into Sherlock's chair to enjoy the show.

John almost threw Sherlock up against the wall near the entrance to the flat. Sherlock landed with an 'unf' and braced himself against it with his palms on the wall and his feet braced wide behind him. He wiggled his arse invitingly at John.

John didn't really need the invitation, or any additional motivation - he'd been hard for ages now. He'd grabbed the lube on the way over and stepped out of his trousers and pants. Once he'd slicked himself up, he pulled Sherlock's tender arse cheeks apart and examined his still-tight hole. "Perfect. Your brother did a completely inadequate job - just the way both of us want it. You can thank him later.""

Sherlock made a low keening sound of anticipation as he felt John place the head of his cock against his entrance.

John grabbed Sherlock's hips with a vice-like grip and plunged his thick cock in to the hilt. He proceeded to fuck him at a vicious pace, fast and rough and just how they both needed it.

"HurtJohnMorePlease…" Sherlock begged, desperately, and John obliged, sinking his fingernails into Sherlock's red, sore arse cheek.

Sherlock let out a low, shuddering scream and came, violently, all over the hideous wallpaper. He later tried to explain the level and complexity of the orgasm to John, but "having all my sexual energy explode through the top of my skull" only came vaguely close to the actual intensity of it.

Regardless, the primal noise Sherlock made was enough to send John thrusting through his own orgasm, shooting his load deep inside his lover. He slumped on top of Sherlock, who held their combined weight as they both got their breathing back under control.

When they turned around, they saw Greg and Mycroft - sitting and kneeling, respectively - transfixed.

"That," said Greg, "was a hell of a thing."

Mycroft nodded.

John and Sherlock both just grinned, exhausted.

"I think we should leave you two in peace, John. But I do have a favour to ask - you have one of those large butt plugs, right?"

John smiled, "Yes, I'll be right back." He returned with a thick plug and handed it to Greg.

"Arse in the air, Mycroft."

There was a slight gasp from both John and Sherlock as Mycroft immediately complied. It was a delicious sight, spectacular in its rarity.

"Sherlock, I believe I said you could open up your brother for me?"

The high-wattage smile that spread across Sherlock's face could have powered a small city. "Why yes, I believe you did."

He slicked the huge toy up and slowly but deliberately pushed it into his brother's arse.

Mycroft's breath caught in his throat as the largest part of it breached him, and then it popped into place.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I'm saving that for later," Greg smirked. "Get dressed, My. I think I need to cut a few holes in those jeans when we get home."


	15. Property of Gregory Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft owns a collar, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mycroft/Greg)

They got into the black car waiting outside of 221B. Mycroft deferentially opened the car door for Greg and let him get inside first.

"You realise you're going to have to make this up to me, Mycroft," Greg said with a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

Mycroft felt a thrill run through his gut even greater than the one he'd felt when Greg had forced the plug into him, only minutes before. Usually when he submitted to Greg, it was because he needed the release. Only on rare occasions did Greg take the initiative to dominate him.

"I don't care that you're fucking Sherlock. You know that. And I don't care that you don't always want me there while you do it." He grabbed Mycroft's punk collar and pulled him close - too close, invading his personal space. "But I _do_ want to know what's going on. You may be the 'The British Government', but I think you'll find that you answer to me, as well as the Queen."

"I'm sorry, Gregory. I should have told you we were meeting."

"You're damned right you should have."

"What can I do to make it up to you, Gregory?"

"Sir."

"What can I do to make it up to you, Sir?"

"I haven't decided yet. But getting on your knees would be a start."

This was one of the smaller cars, and there was no privacy screen. The chauffeur was too discreet to react as his employer got out of his seat and knelt uncomfortably between Greg's legs.

"Can you feel those tight jeans pushing against that big plug I shoved in there?"

"Yes, sir." Mycroft made a mental note to give his driver a particularly large 'discretionary bonus' at the earliest opportunity.

"Shy, all of a sudden? You weren't so shy when we walked in to find you with your brother over your knees."

A very, _very_ large bonus. Despite the humiliation, or perhaps because of it, his jeans were once again uncomfortably tight.

Greg reached down and palmed the sizable bulge in Mycroft's trousers. "Slut."

Mycroft had no response and kept his head bowed.

Gregory grabbed his collar and pulled him forward, claiming his mouth in a kiss. It was more of a possessive action than a tender one, and it left both of them throbbing with need and lust.

He fisted Mycroft's t-shirt. "When we get back home, you won't be needing clothes. The only thing you'll be wearing for a while is your collar. Your _proper_ collar." He was referring to Mycroft's submissive collar, not his punk collar. While he, Sherlock, and John had collars that said 'Property of Mycroft Holmes', it was a little known fact that Mycroft owned one that said 'Property of Gregory Lestrade'.

Not even Sherlock knew that.

Greg reached out and grabbed one of his lover's deceptively delicate-looking wrists. He forced Mycroft's palm over his own growing erection. "Make me want it."

Mycroft reached to undo Greg's trousers, but he shook his head.

"No. Through my jeans. You don't have my permission to touch. I'm going to make you beg for that."

Mycroft Holmes was a very smart man, and he knew that the time to beg was most certainly _not now_. He pushed the palm of his hand against the hardness in Greg's jeans, rubbing him and grasping at the outline of his cock beneath the thick denim.

"Look at me."

As soon as he met Greg's gaze, he longed to look back down. Greg was giving him a slight, predatory smile that left no doubt as to who was in charge. He kept up his work on Greg's erection through his jeans.

"Use your mouth."

Mycroft's eyes widened in a hint of panic, but he immediately dropped his head, relieved to be allowed to break Greg's gaze. He planted his hands on the seat and buried his face in Lestrade's crotch.

Greg caught the driver stealing a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

"What? Not every day you see your boss on his knees between a bloke's legs? It better fucking not be."

The chauffeur's gaze turned back to the road so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash.

Mycroft smiled to himself. Actually, he was sure the driver probably _had_ seen it more than once - certainly with Gregory - but his discretion was why Mycroft paid him so well. He'd probably driven _all_ of them around, in the back of one car or another, doing some fairly incriminating things. Most of the time, they were just too busy acting like hormone-addled teenagers to care.

They got back to the flat, and the driver hopped out to open the door for them. He wouldn't meet Greg's gaze. "Sir."

Greg gave him a conspiratorial smile anyway. "Don't worry, I won't let him sack you. Besides, I'd have looked, too - it's not every day you see Mycroft Holmes on his knees."

The pale skin of Mycroft's neck flushed a deep pink, and they made their way into the building as the driver pulled back into the evening traffic.

"You first. I want to watch your arse in those jeans. It's not a sight I see often enough."

Mycroft wondered, not for the first time that evening, what Greg was planning. He knew that he'd _planned_ to spend a couple hours at the pub, but he and Sherlock had effectively derailed that plan, and now it was time to apologise. Again. His arse still stung from the first apology.

They took the lift to the top floor in silence. As they stepped into the flat, Mycroft could feel Greg's dark brown eyes on him, even as he began a detailed study of the carpet fibres.

"Enough of that, Mycroft. Look at me."

He met Greg's gaze, once again.

"You know, I was quite looking forward to a few pints and some nice footy on the telly afterwards. I still am." He took off his coat and handed it to Mycroft. "Hang this up. Remove all your clothes except for your jeans, and put on your proper collar. And be quick about it." He sat on the sofa in front of the telly and turned it on.

Mycroft hurried down the hallway towards the bedroom. This was not what he'd expected. After hanging up Greg's coat, he undid his combat boots as quickly as possible. _I should have gotten the ones with hooks at the top instead of lace holes._ Next to go were his socks, t-shirt, and punk collar. Finally, he retrieved his own collar from its location in Gregory's top dresser drawer and buckled it firmly around his neck.

He rushed back to the living room to find Greg sprawled on the sofa, seemingly engrossed in the match.

Greg turned to look at him and gave him a lascivious stare. "That's a nice look for you."

Mycroft felt incredibly self-conscious wearing only his jeans and his collar, but that might have been the point.

"Grab me a beer from the kitchen and then come in here."

He returned, handed Greg the freshly-opened bottle, and waited.

Greg looked him over. "You've got nice feet. They're always covered up in socks; you should go barefoot more often. It's sexy."

Mycroft remained silent, not sure if he should be speaking, and certainly not sure what he should be saying. None of their previous disciplinary sessions had ever taken this sort of tone, and he was downright confused.

"Okay, here's the thing, right? My evening down the pub… wasn't. The thing back at the flat was a lot of fun but fairly exhausting. All I really want is to curl up on the sofa, with you, and watch the telly for a bit. I want you in your jeans because I think you look hot in them. I'm leaving that plug in you because I want to fuck you into the mattress later, and you're wearing your collar because I don't want you wandering off without thinking about it. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Don't call me Sir."

"Yes, Gregory."

"Oh, but as terms of your punishment, you will be required, at least once every ten minutes, to make a relevant comment about the match."

Mycroft just groaned and curled up next to Greg on the sofa.

"Enough of that," Greg said, pulling him closer and kissing him, "or I'll make it once every five minutes."

Mycroft smiled, contentedly, and settled in for the evening.


	16. Punishment by Proxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is out of town, and Mycroft gets a little too overbearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely [random_nexus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus)
> 
> Thanks to deklava for the beta!
> 
>  **Warnings** : If D/s between siblings counts as sibling incest, well, you've been warned. Otherwise, none.

Mycroft Holmes was kneeling on the thick carpet with John's cock in his mouth when he heard the door open.

The tie from his suit (silk, expensive, and ruined) was tied firmly over his eyes, but his head snapped up, as if he could see who'd come into the flat.

John shoved his cock further down Mycroft's throat, saying "What, you weren't expecting to get caught in the act?"

* * *

Gregory was in Plymouth for at least the next three days, and Mycroft was in a foul mood. The stress of work was getting to him, and he just wanted Gregory back at home. He skipped dinner in favour of a bowl of cereal; he could be a savage when it suited him. He settled onto the sofa with his Raisin Bran and a mug of tea. There were a few episodes of Midsomer Murders on the DVR, and he planned to indulge in a small bowl of chocolate ice cream later.

He looked up with surprise when the doorbell rang. He hastily put his cereal in the kitchen before he answered the door; getting caught eating cereal was far too plebeian an act to admit to in public. A quick check of the security camera confirmed the visitor was someone he knew.

"John, I wasn't expecting you. Do come in."

John wore tight black jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt. It was a radical departure from his baggy jumpers, and Mycroft gave the outfit an appreciative glance.

"Mycroft." His voice and manner were unusually stern.

"What's wrong, John? Is Sherlock alright?"

John's face softened for an instant. "He's fine," he said, before launching into a tirade, "but I hear _you_ were at the Met today, ripping into them about this new case. You're as bad as Sherlock. Dimmock was mad as hell and phoned Greg, and he phoned me."

Mycroft felt his pulse quicken.

"Just because you're a bloody Holmes doesn't mean you can waltz in and get whatever you want."

"Perhaps not, John, but because I'm _Mycroft_ Holmes, I think you'll find that it does," he said, giving him a tight smile that was calculated to provoke. The evening had just gotten far more interesting.

He'd expected John to hit him. (He'd rather hoped he would.)

He hadn't expected a kick behind his legs, dropping him to his knees. His eyes refocused on John's zipper, inches from his mouth. John's tight jeans were getting tighter by the second.

"Greg told me he has a better use for that posh mouth of yours when you can't keep it shut, and he asked me to come over here and remind you."

A brief hint of a smile played across Mycroft's lips.

John pulled Mycroft's tie from his neck and fastened it tightly over his eyes.

"Stay there. I want a drink."

Mycroft heard him wander into the kitchen.

John laughed. "Cereal? That's dinner? Not nearly enough protein, but I'll be happy to fix that when I force-feed my cock down that elegant throat of yours."

He felt John return and stand in front of him. "What do you say to that, Mycroft?"

"Please?"

"I thought so," he said, his voice going rough around the edges.

Mycroft heard John's zipper being lowered and the quiet swish of fabric. Then a hand forced his jaw open, and he felt the thick head of John's cock being pushed between his lips.

"It's been a while since I had your mouth, Mycroft. Remind me how good you are at this," John said, as he shoved his cock in deeper.

* * *

Whoever had come in the door was being very careful not to make their identity obvious. It was either Sherlock or Gregory, of course, but he couldn't tell which. Not until they moved. There was no trace of cologne or anything else that would give them away.

John pulled out of his mouth, and Mycroft took the opportunity to wipe the drool from his face.

"Did I say you could do that? Your body's mine until I'm done with it. Your _whole_ body. Hands behind your back."

Mycroft complied. _Thank you, Gregory. I needed this._

John slipped his cock back into his briefs but didn't bother to do up his jeans; it would have been futile anyway.

"You look good with a cock in your mouth, Mycroft. What would your employers think if they knew you got on your knees like a rent boy? Some of them would probably be lining up outside your office door, just waiting for a chance at that posh mouth of yours."

Mycroft's face burned at the words, but he couldn't deny the idea of being used like that just got him harder.

John guided him to the Playroom, and the visitor stayed, unmoving, at the door.

 _It must be Sherlock,_ Mycroft thought. _Gregory wouldn't be this careful to conceal his identity, and Sherlock does love to make an entrance._

"Strip."

He took off the rest of his suit, thankful John had only sacrificed his tie. He placed his clothes in what he hoped was a neat pile on the floor and stood there proudly, refusing to let his erection embarrass him.

John circled him, letting his hands roam across Mycroft's body, and hummed his appreciation. "Well, Greg said you'd be eager. Which reminds me," he said with a smile in his voice, "you weren't done."

Mycroft happily dropped to his knees and pulled John's pants down around his arse. His mouth was stuffed full almost before he'd finished. He gripped John's thighs for leverage and shoved him in even further, determined to give John an experience he wouldn't soon forget.

Light footsteps in the hallway confirmed his earlier deduction. _Sherlock._

The footsteps walked up beside John and stopped. He smiled at the faint aroma. _Sherlock's leather trousers._

"Can't you see I'm busy? You do it," John said, gripping Mycroft's head and shoving his cock deeper. Sherlock must have wanted something, but Mycroft wasn't sure what.

He heard a sigh, and the sound of something being placed on the floor.

Sherlock's long, delicate fingers worked at the tie while he continued to suck enthusiastically on John.

The tie came off, and he blinked and waited for his eyes to refocus after being bound for so long. He glanced up at John. He was all dark: still mostly clothed. To his side, Sherlock's chest was a sea of pale, cut off by the stark blackness of his tight leather trousers. And if his blurry vision was any indication, his long, pale feet were bare.

Sherlock bent down to retrieve something from the floor. Mycroft's vision still wasn't good enough to be able to tell what it was, but he could guess: Sherlock's riding crop.

The blur of Sherlock's features resolved into a predatory smile.

"Hello, Mycroft."

John pulled out of Mycroft's mouth. "I suppose it would be _polite_ to let you two exchange pleasantries."

"So nice of you to join us, Sherlock," Mycroft said, as he unconsciously flexed his aching jaw. John was a mouthful. He knew better than to wipe his face off this time, despite the state of it. "And you brought along a friend, I see."

Sherlock ran the leather tip of the riding crop over Mycroft's red, swollen lips. "One you'll be getting intimately acquainted with."

He managed to contain a shudder. Pain play was something he rarely indulged in with anyone other than Gregory.

"I hear you were terrorising the fine people at the Met. That's my division, Mycroft. Don't you have better things to do? Shouldn't you be coordinating assassinations or something?"

"No, I mostly contract that out these days."

The crop sliced through the air with remarkable speed and landed squarely on Mycroft's arse.

He refused to give Sherlock the satisfaction of any audible reaction, but he did wince at the stinging pain of it.

John spoke up. "You know Sherlock, for as much as I appreciate your arse in those leather trousers, I _was_ in the middle of something," he said as he gestured towards his erection.

"You can finish later," Sherlock said dismissively. "Where are the cuffs? I want him tied up for this."

John tugged Sherlock close using the waistband of his trousers. "Oh, I'll finish later, Sherlock," he said, with a slight edge of menace in his voice. "I'll let you have your fun with Mycroft, just like I said you could, but then I'm going to pound that pretty arse of yours until you beg. You may get to beat him, but that doesn't mean you can mouth off to me." He pulled him in close and sucked a red mark into Sherlock's neck. "Don't start thinking you're in charge, because you're not."

Mycroft didn't even bother hiding his smile. He expected Sherlock to lash out verbally at John, but he didn't; he went quiet and replied, "Yes, John."

"Good," John replied with a smile. He kissed Sherlock - a slow, deep kiss that took all the tension out of Sherlock's posture. "Now, behave, or I'll tie you up and use that crop on both of you."

The look on Sherlock's face suggested he might quite enjoy that.

"Y-yes, John. May I crop him now?" Sherlock asked, suddenly all deference and politeness.

John nodded.

"Did you want him to finish you while I do it?"

John laughed. "Not bloody likely. Mycroft's restraint is legendary, but one misaimed blow from you and I risk a trip to A&E. Have your fun; Greg did say he needed to be disciplined, after all."

Mycroft's heart glowed at the mention of Gregory. Punishment from Gregory, even if it was administered by Sherlock, was always a good thing.

John tucked himself back into his pants, not bothering with the jeans. "It looks like I'll be finishing with you later, Mycroft."

Mycroft looked up at John and slowly ran his tongue over his lips before saying, "I'd like that. Sir."

John smiled. "Greg's a lucky bastard."

Sherlock shot John a filthy look, but John just raised his eyebrows, daring him to respond. Sherlock remained silent as he retrieved the cuffs from the cabinet.

Mycroft once again marvelled at John's ability to manage Sherlock and his attitude.

John settled into one of the upholstered chairs, apparently content to watch the show.

"Mycroft, bend over the bed, hands behind your back," Sherlock said.

He studied Sherlock before he complied; excitement darted across his brother's features like a flock of swallows. He debated precisely how much satisfaction he should give him. Too little, and Sherlock would be brutal, if only to make a point. Too much, and he'd be, well… Sherlock, but perhaps that was John's responsibility tonight. It wasn't like he couldn't take the pain. Gregory had given John liberty to discipline him, and John had allowed Sherlock to participate. It would be rude to top from the bottom, even if it _was_ Sherlock.

He stood and strode purposely to the side of the bed, bending over it and turning his head in John's direction. He wouldn't be able to see Sherlock, but he wanted to observe John. He placed his hands behind his back and waited for Sherlock to cuff him. He felt soft leather straps cinch closed around his wrists.

"Oh, leather; how considerate. I would have expected you to choose the metal ones."

"Do I have to gag you?" Sherlock asked.

"It sounds like you want to," Mycroft said, provoking him.

Sherlock stormed off to the cabinet and Mycroft stole a quick glance at John, who smirked. He wondered how much John would let him get away with. If he pushed Sherlock too far, John would intervene. As it was, this was playful, although he doubted Sherlock would agree.

Sherlock returned with a silicone bit gag and shoved it between Mycroft's lips. He fastened it far too tightly, and it pulled Mycroft's lips painfully tight over his teeth.

It felt good, although Mycroft wasn't about to admit it to Sherlock. Punishment-by-proxy was just as thrilling as the real thing.

"That's better," Sherlock said, and bent down close to Mycroft's face. "Twenty strokes, Mycroft."

"Mycroft," John interrupted, "if you need to safeword, blink rapidly. I'll be watching."

Mycroft nodded.

"I'm looking forward to this, Mycroft. I've been practising my technique, although you'll be one of my few live subjects," he added with a predatory grin.

Mycroft could see him almost vibrating with anticipation. A light sheen of sweat covered his chest, and his leather trousers looked uncomfortably tight.

Sherlock moved back to his position behind Mycroft.

Mycroft felt the leather flap make its way down his spine and between his arse cheeks. Then suddenly, it was gone, and it landed on his arse with a loud crack.

It was a hard strike, and his body recoiled against the pain, but he refused to give Sherlock the satisfaction of a reaction on the first hit. Three more followed in quick succession, all in precisely the same location. _He has been practising._ They hurt like hell, and he allowed a groan to escape from around the gag. He looked at John; true to his word, he was watching his eyes intently for any signs of a safeword.

Sherlock seemed somewhat appeased by Mycroft's outburst and started striking him in different places on his arse and thighs. Each hit brought both the stinging pain he expected and the blissful relief he craved; the stress and tension melted away beneath the sharp focus demanded by the crop. This was what he needed: the euphoria of the quiet mind.

Sherlock applied the final three in one spot and Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. That was all: his count had been accurate. He relaxed against the bed and enjoyed the throbbing buzz of sensation. When he opened his eyes, John was smiling at him.

"Nicely done, both of you. Sherlock, your technique has certainly improved. I think Mycroft will be feeling that for a while."

Sherlock dropped the crop on the bed next to Mycroft and slinked over to John, radiating sex. He straddled one of John's legs and pushed him back into the chair, kissing him and rubbing his leather-clad erection against John's thigh in an obscene display of lust.

Mycroft smiled. John had Sherlock exactly where he wanted him. Desperate.

It made the two welts he was going to have completely worthwhile.

John grabbed Sherlock's hair and pulled back hard, sucking another bruise into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock arched his back and moaned as his hands fumbled with the leather trousers.

"Oh," John said, laughing. "This is all about getting _you_ off then, is it?"

Sherlock's hands immediately stilled.

"You can take those trousers off: I like having your lovely cock on display. Then I want you on your knees."

Sherlock seemed about to protest, but thought better of it. He knelt, naked, at the foot of John's chair.

John palmed his erection as he stood up. He was still hard, and had been for a while. He took off his jeans and pants, and handed them to Sherlock, who folded them and placed them next to the chair.

Sherlock looked at him expectantly, his eyebrows a question.

"Alright. You did such a nice job with Mycroft's arse."

Sherlock craned his neck to run his tongue along John's cock in a silent display of thanks.

Mycroft watched with appreciation.

John stepped closer to allow Sherlock better access, and he immediately took advantage of it, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking enthusiastically. Sherlock always gave spectacular blow-jobs, and from the look on John's face, this one was no exception. After a few minutes, John stepped back, and Sherlock whined in protest.

"I'm not done with you yet, don't worry. Stay here and behave; I want a closer look at your handiwork."

John walked over to the bed and removed the bit gag from Mycroft's mouth.

He flexed his aching jaw and said, "Thank you."

Mycroft winced as John ran his finger over the two welts Sherlock had left.

"Does Greg ever mark you like this?"

"Yes." _Ten times worse, and I beg for more. You have no idea_ , Mycroft thought.

"It almost looked like you were enjoying it, Mycroft. I never figured you for a pain slut."

"Perhaps you should test that theory," Mycroft said, deliberately provoking him. It was blatant, but he didn't care. He wanted something: pain, pleasure - he'd take anything.

John grabbed his wrists and pulled him back roughly so he wasn't up against the bed. He kicked Mycroft's feet apart; it spread him wide and brought him down to a better height.

Mycroft heard a drawer open and the snap of a bottle of lubricant. Suddenly, John's palm and fingers were cradling his balls, and a slick, insistent thumb pressed at his opening.

"You still owe me a blow-job from earlier, but I want your nice, cropped arse instead. Besides, Greg's been gone for a while: you're going to be fucking tight around my cock, just how I like it."

Mycroft groaned at the idea and wondered what Sherlock thought about that.

John's thumb was joined by its twin, this one not as gentle as it pushed inside. He made a small noise of protest as John stretched him wider than he was prepared for.

"Oh, you can take that. Trust me, it's going to get a lot bigger. That's what you want, isn't it? My thick cock up your arse?"

"Yes," he moaned as John pulled his thumbs apart, spreading him like a cheap whore. "Sir."

John's hand reached around and stroked Mycroft's aching cock.

"For someone who just got thrashed, you're awfully aroused. I think you'd enjoy it if I just forced my way inside you."

He was right.

"Say it. I want to hear you say it, Mycroft."

"Please, John," he said as he struggled to keep his voice even, "Fuck me hard, John. Make it hurt."

The words seemed to unleash something primal in John and he growled in response. He yanked his thumbs out, and Mycroft felt the slick, fat head of John's cock at his entrance.

John braced himself against Mycroft's hips and shoved into him: hard, deep, and fast. Mycroft howled from the pain and the sudden, violent intrusion.

"Yes, John," he breathed, ecstatic. "Like that. God, yes."

John didn't need another invitation and grabbed Mycroft's cuffs with one hand, pulling him back onto his cock, even as he drove forward into him. The cuffs dug into his wrists as John used them for leverage to fuck him harder.

Mycroft gave himself over to it. He loved it rough like this.

The glorious pounding was having an equally devastating effect on his prostate. The intense sensations were almost painful, but the stimulation of it was driving him towards orgasm, regardless of his neglected cock. The wet sounds of John's skin against his own filled the room as he lost his ability to think.

And then John pulled out.

Mycroft let out an anguished cry.

Sherlock's laughter cut through the room. "So much for getting what you want, Mycroft," Sherlock said, cruelly.

John cut him off. "If you don't shut it, you won't either. Did you prepare yourself like I told you?"

"Yes, John."

Mycroft lay gasping on the bed, a quivering mass of sexual tension.

"Mycroft, come over here and kneel. I'd like you to have a good view." John unclipped the cuffs from each other, so he'd have the use of his hands. He placed his hand soothingly on Mycroft's back. "You alright?"

Mycroft nodded and almost laughed. _As alright as I can be, considering you damned near fucked me to oblivion and then just stopped._

John helped him to his feet and then went to see to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, hands and knees."

As Sherlock bent down and raised his luscious arse, John pulled his cheeks apart and smiled.

"Very good, Sherlock: the biggest plug we have. How did it feel with those tight leather trousers pushing it into your arse all night?"

"Intrusive."

"Good." He pulled the huge plug out in one swift move and Sherlock gasped at the sudden emptiness.

His entrance gaped for a few seconds, and John was there, even before it started to close, lining up his slick cock and pushing inside.

"Oh, fuck John, yes," Sherlock cried out, as John took him with slow, smooth strokes.

Mycroft watched, mesmerised. Seeing Sherlock completely at the mercy of his own pleasure was a rare thrill.

"Beg me for it, Sherlock, or I'll make sure you don't come. I'll fuck you senseless and fill you up, and then I'll shove that plug back in your arse to seal it in and leave you as hard as I left Mycroft."

"Oh God, John, please. I'm sorry I was insolent earlier. Please, finish me."

"Well, since you asked so nicely…" John said as he reached around and grabbed Sherlock's erection, letting him fuck his fist as he pushed into him.

Sherlock came with a cut-off groan, his semen coating John's hand in thick spurts. John placed his slick hand back against Sherlock's waist, and pounded his way to his own completion, muttering "Oh, fuck yes," as gave one final thrust and came deep inside Sherlock.

They both took a minute to catch their breath, and Mycroft waited, patiently, still painfully aroused.

Then they both turned to face him.

"Now you," John said, but made no further move. "Get yourself off; I want to watch. I imagine Sherlock wouldn't mind, either."

Mycroft glanced down. His thick cock was an angry shade of red, and the trails of pre-ejaculate reminded him of the drool that had clung to his mouth after he'd sucked off John. His long slender fingers grasped his cock; he would have been more self-conscious if he wasn't so turned on and desperate. He just closed his eyes and gave himself the long, hard strokes he'd been dying for. _God, this feels so good. It's not going to take long._

"Open your eyes; you're performing for _us_. I like seeing you so desperate that you're willing to fuck your own hand like a teenager. I'm being generous by letting you get off."

Their combined gaze, as well as the mortification that he was masturbating in front of them, was more than he could take. The obscene, glorious humiliation of it tore the orgasm from him, and he came with a groan all over his hand.

He sank back onto his heels, utterly exhausted.

They sat there in silence for long minutes as the charge dissipated from the room.

John finally stood up to get some towels and surveyed the destruction. "I think we're beyond towels," he said. "How about a shower?" He helped Sherlock to his feet. "You alright?"

Sherlock gave him a lazy smile. "Good. You?"

John nodded.

"Are you alright, Mycroft?"

Mycroft smiled his assent. "Mm. Thanks."

"You might need some ointment on those welts after we shower, but I think they'll be okay."

"Believe me, I've had worse."

They both turned to look at him, and he just smiled enigmatically. Not all secrets had to be shared.

**Author's Note:**

> It's possible there will one day be more of this, but for now, I'm marking it as complete. I hope you enjoyed it!  
> If you want to find me on tumblr, I'm at [chasingriversong](http://chasingriversong.tumblr.com).


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